
Class P-H-^0. 

Book ■ -> ' - 

Copyright }1° 



COH^'KIGIIT DEPOSm 




Class HR 
Book . G ^ 
Gop!ghtl^^_ 



ENGLISH POETS. 



ENGLISH POETS 



TWELVE ESSAYS 



BY 



JOSEPH GOSTWICK, 

\\ 

Aiillior of ihc I/aiidhooks, " Gavtan Litcrotiire'' and "Ameria 
Literature,'" " Geri7ian Poets,'" 



WITH TWELVE TORTRAITS. 




STROEFER & KIRCHXER, 
NEW YORK. 



x^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S75, h' 

Stroefer and Kirchner, 
/// t/ie Office 0/ the Li/jrarian of Co/igress, at JFashingto//. 



;his\vici-: press: — i'rinteu uv whittingha.m and wii.ki.n 
tooks colrt, chanciikv lane. 




ENGLISH POETS. 



INTRODUCTION. 




T is obvious that complete biographies of 
twelve poets, with analyses of all their writ- 
ings, cannot be given in a volume like the 
present. The limits of the work must pre- 
scribe the author's plan. With all the reverence due 
to men of poetic genius, he would endeavour to describe 
their chief characteristics, and would add a few words 
respecting the tendencies of their writings. 

A brief introductory essay is given for the purpose of 
showing that the theory of poetry maintained or implied 
in the following memoirs and essays is neither arbitrary 
nor narrow. 

Poetry is a word having a wider and a closer meaning. 
How extensive must be the general notion that includes 
the writings of SHAKESPEARE and MiLTON, PoPE and 
B 



2 EXGLISH POETS. 

Burns, Crabbe and Wordsworth ! All these writers 
are called poets. To all belong more or less the traits — 
vivid imagination, sympathy, wit, humour, command of 
language and love of harmony in verse. But all these 
qualities, except the last, may be found in the form of 
prose. Addison's " Roger de Coverley,"' in prose, is 
more genial and imaginative than his " Cato " in blank 
verse. Sir Walter Scott's novels and romances, in 
prose, are more richly imaginative than his metrical 
poetr>-. Jeremy Taylor and Sir Thomas Browne 
are poets, and Irving and Hawthorne may be classed 
with the poets of America. It may, therefore, for a 
moment appear that verse is but an accidental form of 
some writings called poetr}-, and that — suppressing the 
formal distinction of verse and prose — creative or poetical 
writers may be well classified with a view to their more 
important characteristics ; their thoughts, sympathies, 
and tendencies. For, putting aside their verse-writing, 
there is hardly one characteristic of the men commonly 
called poets that may not be found in prose-writers. 
On the other hand, the fact that two men write in verse 
serves of itself to indicate but a superficial likeness. 
Though Swift wrote verses and Shelley wrote verses, 
what concord had one with the other .' 

After all, it remains true that, in popular language, a 
poet means a man who writes with imaginative and 
emotional power, and who writes well in verse. And 
there are good reasons for this closer definition. For, 



INTRODUCTION. 3 

while it is true that the talent of making verses may 
exist apart from poetical genius, it is also true that 
poets of the highest order have mostly chosen verse as 
their own natural form of expression. If we ask " why?" 
the answer will be found in the closer or higher meaning 
of the word Poetr}'. 

Accepting that word in its higher sense, we would not 
attempt to give a formal definition, but would, in the 
first place, follow COLERIDGE and WORDSWORTH in 
saying : " Poetry is the opposite, not of prose, but of 
science." If there is one word that may indicate the 
nature of that which we would call the essence, the 
spirit of poetry, that one word is Union. A theory 
founded on this general notion can hardly be called 
narrow or arbitrary, when it is found in accordance with 
the theory held by WoRDSWORTH, the poet, and by 
Francis Jeffrey, the critic ; when we find Macaulay 
— no mystical writer — taking the same view of poetry, 
and, accordingly, placing Shelley far above crowds of 
other men called poets. To justify fully our view of 
the one essential power that makes high poetr}-, it would 
be requisite to give the best analysis of poetry ever 
written in English ; in other words, we must quote some 
pages from Words\VORTH'S essays called " prefaces," 
and lately re-published. But, for the sake of brevity, 
the words of the critic, Jeffrey, may be given : — " It 
has always been our opinion," he says, " that the real 
essence of poetry — apart from the pathos, the wit, or 



4 ENGLISH POETS. 

the brilliant description which may be embodied in it, 
but may equally exist in prose — consists in the fine 
perception, the vivid expression of that subtle and 
mysterious analogy which exists between the physical 
and the moral world, which makes outward things and 
qualities the natural types and emblems of inward gifts 
and emotions, and leads us to ascribe life and sentiment 
to everything that interests us in the aspect of external 
nature." This definition is true as far as it goes, but 
does not include all that may be said of unitive, or poetic, 
genius. A definition, more concise, yet more comprehen- 
sive, is given by Charles Lamb. He describes poetical 
imagination as " the power that draws all things to one ; 
which makes things animate and inanimate, beings with 
their attributes, subjects with their accessories, take one 
colour and serve to one effect." The purest and highest 
poetry knows nothing of the hard lines, divisions, and 
abstractions of science ; but takes for granted a union 
of the real with the ideal ; of the past with the present 
and the future ; of the mind with the surrounding world. 
For the poet, outward signs are the words of one all- 
pervading mind ; all nature lives, thinks, and feels ; stars, 
rivers, flowers, trees — yea, rocks and old stony ruins are 
his friends. He can call up emotion from the depth of 
calm, and can make all the passions excited by tragedy 
lead to a subjugation of the will, and end in the repose 
of resignation. He can find a "joy in grief," and can 
transmute faded sorrows into "pleasures of memory." 



INTRODUCTION. 5 

The question, " whence come metres and rhymed or 
unrhymed verses ? " is ah'eady answered. The expression 
must accord with the meaning ; the form must be united 
with the idea. If the essence of the purest poetry is 
union, or harmony, then the language of poetry must be 
harmonious. " Verse," says an essayist, " is necessary 
to the form of poetry " [in its higher definition] ; " the 
perfection of the poetical spirit demands it ; the circle of 
its enthusiasm, beauty, and power is incomplete without 
it. Verse is the final proof to the poet that his mastery 
over his art is complete. Poetry, in its complete 
sympathy with beauty, must leave no sense of the 
beautiful, and no power over its forms unmanifested." 

It may be said, that these characteristics, here noticed 
as belonging to the higher poetry, are by no means 
found everywhere, even in the writings of true poets. 
True ; for poetry must have variety and contrast. The 
greatest poets write, only here and there, in their highest 
strain of inspiration ; some parts of their works may 
include graphic descriptions of facts as they are, or may 
contain traits of wit and humour, or moral maxims, or 
meditative passages. Many pages in WORDSWORTH'S 
writings may be fairly described as consisting of sermons 
in verse. Crabbe could write poetry ; but his mind 
was so closely engaged with life's sad realities — as seen 
in workhouses, prisons, and " the huts where poor men 
lie," — that he often seemed forgetful of all poetry. In 
Cowper an earnest desire to teach often suppressed, or 



6 ENGLISH POETS. 

held in strict control, the poet's imagination. In a word 
— it does not follow, because a man is a poet, that he is 
to be nothing more than a poet. 

Poetry has, of course, relationship with the sister arts, 
music and painting. In metre and rhyme a peculiar 
melody, distinct from singing, is supplied. There are 
comparatively few poems well adapted to be set to 
music ; but many poems have their own melody, and, 
when well read aloud by a sympathetic voice, want no 
accompaniment. The minute gradations of a fine read- 
ing voice have shades of expression that cannot be given 
by any arrangement of tones and semitones in the 
diatonic scale. 

The definition that calls poetry "a kind of painting 
in words" has been already condemned by Lessing, 
one of the best of critics. Poetry, he tells us, does not 
consist in exact portraiture. Why should the artist, 
whose means of expression are words, attempt to do the 
work that may be done better by a painter } Each of 
the fine arts has its own special bounds. In painting, 
harmony is displayed in space ; in poetry, as in music, 
a succession of time is required. Painting sets before us 
forms, colours, and expressions, of which the general 
harmony may be seen and felt in a moment. In narra- 
tive poetry, a succession of pictures may be suggested by 
words ; but the pictures must be only passingly named, 
as scenery is noticed by a traveller still proceeding on 
his journey. To this rule some exceptions may be found 



IN TRODUC TION. 7 

in the writings of great poets. For example, in 
Shelley's "Alastor" may be found an elaborate de- 
scription of forest scenery ; but let it be noticed that the 
tone of the passage accords well with the preceding and 
the following narrative, and that personal sentiment is 
intimately blended with the whole description. On the 
other hand, the examples that might be given to confirm 
our theory of poetry are abundant. Men who have no 
care for any formal definitions can see and feel, in a 
moment, that there is no poetry in the following lines, 
written by a dry versifier who made rhymes in the 
seventeenth century : — 

" Twenty-four miles surveyors do account 
Between the eastern and the western mount. 
Hither the eagles fly and — lay their eggs." 

This is a part of a description of two mountains. To 
find a contrast, we may open one of Wordsworth's 
volumes anywhere, so that we avoid his didactic verses. 
By accident, we turn to some lines — not remarkably 
good — addressed to a ruined castle, standing near Loch 
Awe, with a mountain and a torrent in the back- 
ground : — 

" The mountain stream 
Roars in thy hearing ; but thy hour of rest 
Is come, and thou art silent in thy age." 

Here the gray old pile is alive and thinks. It had a 
loud and stormy youth in ancient and warlike times, and 
now it has a serene old age. A human interest is thus 



8 ENGLISH POETS. 

given to the castle. To find other examples of poetic 
and unitive imagination, we might refer to the two beauti- 
ful elegies — " Lycidas," by MiLTON, and " Adonais," by 
Shelley ; or, for bolder expressions, we might turn to a 
passage of Hebrew poetry, where " fir-trees " and " the 
cedars of Lebanon " blend their voices, while the dead 
are called up from their graves, that they may unite in 
a song of triumph over a fallen oppressor. From this 
sublime example of lyric enthusiasm we might turn to 
tales of fairy-land and other stories for childhood, and 
here might find the spirit of poetry expressing itself in 
playful forms. When all human tongues are silent, " a 
bird in the forest brings to light the cruelty of a step- 
mother." To rebuke avarice, " a fountain refuses to 
flow." The kindness of a child is recognized and is well 
rewarded, not only by an angel, but also " by a bird, a 
fish, and a rivulet ! " This is playful fiction, and, at the 
same time, it is true poetry. 

It would be vain to attempt an enumeration of all the 
forms in which the general idea of union finds poetic ex- 
pressions ; but we may briefly divide them into two 
classes, and for this purpose may employ, with distinct 
meanings, the two words " Imagination" and " Fancy." 
The former may be used to denote every union of ideas 
that may be accepted as natural or possible, or as having 
some ground in faith or in earnest emotion. As exer- 
cises of Fancy we may treat all light, accidental, or arbi- 
trary associations of ideas. Imagination gives birth to 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

profound thoughts of union. Fancy is pleased with 
shallow analogies. Imagination may harmonize well 
with religious belief or with bold speculation. Fancy 
may excite a smile. Imagination may become formidable 
or may assert its dominion over the mind. Imagination 
is earnest. Fancy is playful. For one example of ima- 
ginative power we may turn to a well-known passage in 
Shakespeare's marvellous play, " The Tempest." Here 
all the pageants of a masque — "a most majestic vision " 
— fade away as clouds, and "leave not a rack behind;" 
and so, says the poet, 

" The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
And — like this insubstantial pageant faded- 
Leave not a rack behind." 
Here all things that men usually call realities are 
likened to dreams," "pageants," and mere shows ! This 
bringing together of two opposite classes of objects is 
bold and earnest ; it accords well with, at least, one in- 
terpretation of a creed held by millions, and it is closely 
connected with premonitions by which the souls of men 
have often been disturbed. This is an example of earnest 
and profound imagination. 

To find a specimen of Fancy's power we may turn to one 
of Wordsworth's several addresses " To the Daisy : " 
" A little Cyclops ! with one eye 
Staring, to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next — and instantly 
The freak is over, 
C 



lo ENGLISH POETS. 

The shape will vanish — and behold ! 
A silver shield, with boss of gold, 
That spreads itself, some faery bold 
In fight to cover." 

Here the likenesses supposed to exist are slight and 
evanescent, and may be even called — wilful. They have 
no basis in earnest feeling, such as may be found in 
another passage here given as a noble example of ima- 
ginative power. The poet, travelling in Italy, sees the 
marble statues on the cathedral of Milan, and afterwards 
he is sailing on a lake when an eclipse of the sun (1820) 
takes place. The darkening billows remind him of the 
shadow passing over the faces of the marble angels at 

Milan : 

" All steeped in this portentous light I 
All suffering dim eclipse ! " 

Then follows this bolder expression of imaginative 

power : 

" Thus, after man had fallen — if aught 
These perishable spheres have wrought 
May with that issue be compared— 
Throngs of celestial visages, 
Darkening, like water in the breeze, 
A holy sadness shared." 

So far the essence — the master idea — of poetry has 
been described. But an idea must be developed and 
embodied. The means for its incorporation are found in 
studies of nature, and of human life in union with nature. 
On his mastery of these studies depends our estimate of 



INTRODUCTION. ii 

a poet, with respect to his greatness or his grasp of the 
materials required for the expansion of poetic power. 
A poet's genius may be true in its kind, but may, at the 
same time, be small in evolution. Though it seems un- 
fair to compare any poet with SHAKESPEARE, we may, 
for the sake of clear illustration, point to the distance 
existing between our greatest poet and the lively fabulist, 
John Gay. So vast was the evolution of Shakespeare's 
genius, that the hundreds of volumes already written 
hardly suffice for its analysis. But a few pages might 
give a fair estimate of all the poetic work of Gav, and 
the same remark might be applied to many writers who, 
in their several small spheres, have displayed some poetic 
powers. 

Human life, viewed as a whole, and with respect to 
the past, the present, and the future, is the chief theme 
of poetry. History — though lately expanded by union 
with the spirit of poetry — has too often treated men as 
if they were machines, urged on by external forces. 
The poet should be the historian's companion, and should 
do more than the historian can do. While the latter 
notices the bodies of events, the former tells of the spirit 
that moves them. The historian describes the outward 
life and records facts ; the poet reveals feelings, thoughts, 
hopes, desires — the germs of far-distant events. The 
historian tells us what man has been ; the poet shows, 
either in dreams of the past or in visions of the future, 
what man may be. To the poet, fulfilling the duties here 



12 ENGLISH POETS. 

named, the praise awarded by WORDSWORTH belongs : 
" He is the rock of defence for human nature, an up- 
holder and preserver, carrying everywhere with him re- 
lationship and love. In spite of difference of soil and 
climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs, 
in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things 
violently destroyed, the poet binds together, by passion 
and knowledge, the vast empire of human society as it is 
spread over the whole earth and over all time." 

It is obvious that all this praise cannot be fairly 
awarded to every writer of poetry, and cannot have refer- 
ence to every passage found in the greatest of poets. 
In the ideal, as in the real world, are found day and 
night, beauty and deformity, harmony and discord. But 
who can doubt that goodness, kindness, and expansive 
sympathy are the master-tones and the general tenden- 
cies of such poets as Shakespeare and Sir Walter 
Scott .-' Have writers of their order ever separated 
classes in society one from another, or divided men into 
narrow sects, or taught them to hate one another } Is 
teaching, by means of poetry, to be called ineffectual, be- 
cause it is indirect and not dogmatic ? Is not influence 
deeper and stronger than precept } 

Good or bad moral influence may be ascribed to an 
imaginative work. But it is not the poet's duty to give 
directly instruction in faith or in morals. He may, 
sometimes, wander away from poetry, and write sermons 
in rhyme or in blank verse ; but in such instances he 



INTRODUCTION. 



13 



trespasses upon ground that strictly belongs to others. 
Poems are not didactic essays. But, as all things good, 
true, and beautiful, live naturally in union, a compre- 
hensive survey of poetical literature, from Homer's time 
to our own, will show that the tones of true poetry accord 
well, on the whole, with the best culture, the purest faith, 
the highest hopes of mankind. Caution is always re- 
quired when we speak of the control that intellect, in any 
form of manifestation, may exert over the crude passions 
of men. So far are men governed by their stubborn 
habits and their physical wants, that the progress of 
good teaching — direct or indirect — must be slow. But 
the predictions uttered and the hopes excited by seers 
and poets are not altogether barren and deluding, though 
they may have to wait long for their fulfilment. After 
all the failures of so many hundred years, millions still 
cherish the hope that the fair visions of our purest poetry 
may gradually shine forth out of literature into life, 
and make the world all around us brighter and more 
beautiful. 

Has too much been said of the good influence of 
poetry.!* Let us turn over slowly the pages of some 
volumes containing selections from the works of English 
poets. Where shall we find so many expressions of 
kindness flowing forth towards man and the whole ani- 
mated world ? Where so many noble thoughts of free- 
dom and contentment .-' Where so little of that hateful 
and destructive principle — bigotry .!* In poetical litera- 



14 ENGLISH POETS. 

ture we find, of course, as in social and political history, 
the duality that belongs to human nature — darkness as 
well as light — and, if we search diligently for errors and 
vices, we shall not fail to find them in abundance, es- 
pecially in dramatic poetry. Here it is always to be 
remembered that a work of art — above all, a drama — 
must be viewed as a whole ; must be estimated with re- 
spect, not to isolated passages, but to the prevalent tone 
and the general effect. There are dark places in " The 
Tempest," but how noble and healthful the summary — 
the conclusion ! So may we speak generally of the 
greater part of all true poetry. There can be no perma- 
nent alliance of genius with frivolity. The enthusiasm 
called poetic inspiration can be excited only by noble 
aims and ideas. 

There are three relations that poetic art may bear to 
religion and virtue. The artist may regard his work as 
done for his own amusement or for the diversion of his 
readers. In this instance, the relation of art to morality 
is indifference. Or a poet, by deplorable error, may em- 
ploy art as the slave of passion, and make of poetry a 
beautiful robe for deformity. Or thirdly, while enjoying 
his own artistic freedom with respect to forms of expres- 
sion, he may write poetry, by no means dryly didactic, 
but such as, when fairly and generously interpreted, will 
be found harmonious with all things true, honest, pure, 
and lovely. 

These prefatory words may serve to indicate the 



INTRODUCTION. 15 

general design of the following memoirs and essays. To 
form an estimate of a poet's genius and its evolution, we 
would ask such questions as these : What is the range of 
his ideas and sympathies ? How much does he tell of 
the living world around us — of men and women, as indi- 
viduals, and as members of society ? Lastly, what are 
the moral tones and tendencies of his writings ? 

The subjects of these twelve essays are chosen for the 
purpose of indicating the variety included in poetry. 
The selection is not intended to represent a first rank of 
English poets, and it by no means implies that names 
omitted belong to a second rank. Some biographical 
outlines are given ; but our aim is to show, that a poet's 
true life is found in his own poetry. 




mi 




m. 




SHAKESPEARE. 




T Stratford-on-Avon, a quiet town situate in 
a midland district of meadows, pasture-land, 
and corn-fields, there lived, in the sixteenth 
century, a family bearing the name Shake- 
speare. The father, John Shakespeare, was a yeoman of 
good position, who lived in Henley Street, and was the 
owner of a small farm, an orchard, and some tenements. 
At one time he was a maker of gloves, most probably 
such coarse and strong leather gloves as are worn by 
men who plash hedges. Of his family, three sons — 
William, Gilbert, and Richard — and one daughter, named 
Joan, were living in 1579. 

William Shakespeare, the oldest son, was born at 

Stratford-on-Avon in April, 1564. (For the date April 

23rd no evidence has been found.) That the son of a 

yeoman or small farmer might be well educated at the 

D 



1 8 ENGLISH POETS. 

Grammar School of Stratford-on-Avon, might have 
some knowledge of stage-players, and might hear news 
of religious plays, or Mysteries, performed at Coventry, 
are three suppositions having some considerable proba- 
bility ; but vague traditions and guesses are all the 
grounds that can be found for the stories telling us that 
the poet was, during his youth, a " deer-stealer," a 
"butcher," and a "lawyer's clerk." When hardly nineteen 
years old, he married Anne Hathaway, the daughter of 
" a husbandman," or small farmer, dwelling at Shottery, 
a hamlet near Stratford-on-Avon. Anne was, apparently, 
about seven years older than her husband. Their first 
child was a daughter, Susannah, born in 1583, and, two 
years later, twins — Hamnet and Judith — were born. 
William Shakespeare had, therefore, three children when 
he was only twenty-three years old. About the time 
1586 (as biographers suppose), he went to London, to 
win the means of subsistence by writing and acting 
plays. It is not conceivable that he could be, at that 
time, wholly unconscious of his intellectual resources. 
He knew that they could find no adequate employment 
in any little town, like that in which he was born, and, 
doubtless, thoughts of future fame had already visited 
him in his solitude. There was another motive that 
might urge him, at the same time, to make some new 
effort for the support of himself and his family. The 
prosperity of his father's household was waning. Accord- 
ingly, Shakespeare (1586) went away from his native 



6- HA KE S r E A R E. 1 9 

place, and left there his wife and three children ; but 
there is no evidence to show that they were forsaken. 

The notion that the poet was an illiterate man when 
he left Stratford-on-Avon may be classified, as im- 
probable, with some stories told of his early adventures 
in London. He was once, we are told, the premier in a 
company of boys, called " Shakespeare's boys," who 
earned money by holding horses for gentlemen visiting 
playhouses. Afterwards, it is said, he served on the 
stage as a call-boy, or prompter's attendant, and gradu- 
ally rose, until he could take the part of the Ghost in 
" Hamlet" These stories are very slightly founded on 
evidence. 

The London stage was still in a rude condition when 
the poet came up from Warwickshire. About the time 
1577 the first theatre, then simply called "The Theatre," 
was built on a site near Finsbury Fields ; and, soon 
afterwards, a second theatre, called " The Curtain," was 
erected near the first. The people who frequented these 
places of amusement — especially on Sundays and other 
holidays — included many of the less educated classes, 
who were, from time to time, called unruly, and were 
otherwise denounced by magistrates. At one time 
it was proposed that all acting of plays within or near 
the boundaries of the city should be prohibited and, in 
terms of extreme severity, both players and the sup- 
porters of stage plays were reprobated by several Puritan 
writers and preachers. The arrangements and the pro- 



20 ENGLISH POETS. 

parties of theatres were primitive. The roof covered 
only the stage and the galleries, while the pit was left 
open to the sky. One penny was charged for admission, 
twopence for entrance to the galleries, and sometimes 
threepence was paid for a reserved seat. On Sundays 
and other holidays the house and the galleries were 
often densely crowded, and one of the arguments used 
for the suppression of playhouses was founded on fear 
lest they might be means of spreading the plague. Exer- 
cises in fencing and the performances of tumblers were 
sometimes introduced to give variety to theatrical amuse- 
ments. One of the writers against stage plays admitted 
that some good might be said of them, and that some- 
times good morals were taught in the theatre. 

Of Shakespeare's first association with players nothing- 
is known ; but it is clear that, about the time 1592, when 
he was twenty-eight years old, he had won among them 
a fair reputation, for they described him as a versatile 
and practical man, and as a Jack-of-all-Trades (or a 
*' Factotum "), who was ready to turn his hand to any- 
thing, and to undertake any part in which he could 
make himself serviceable. Some friendly notices and 
some expressions of envy coincide well, so as to lead to 
one conclusion : — that the greatest poet who ever lived 
in this world was a pleasant companion and a modest 
man. He worked on patiently, in concert with others, 
and did not esteem himself " a star " of the first magni- 
tude. But, however great his modesty, it was impossible 



SNA KESPEA RE. 21 

that such powers as he possessed could be concealed. It 
was reported, with some exaggeration, that he wrote very 
rapidly and never blotted a line. The "facetious grace" 
of his style was commended. These and other praises 
excited the envy of less prosperous playwrights and 
actors. Robert Greene {a poor playwright who could 
never '* keep a friend ") described Shakespeare as a man 
who, " in his own conceit," was " the only Shake-scene in 
a country." Other words, written by the same unfortu- 
nate rival, express a fear lest " an upstart crow " should 
win praise due to the birds from whom his fine feathers 
were stolen. These words are mere expressions of envy, 
but they serve to make clear the fact that Shakespeare 
and his associates were winning popularity in 1592, the 
year when Robert Greene died in miserable circum- 
stances. He would have died of starv^ation in the streets 
of London if he had not been succoured by one of his 
creditors — a poor shoemaker to whom the playwright 
owed ten pounds. After Greene's death, the little book 
containing his expressions of envy was published by his 
friend, Chettle, who, soon afterwards, expressed his regret 
that he had not cancelled the false words. To make 
amends, Chettle, in his antique style, described Shake- 
speare as a man whose uprightness and civility, in all his 
dealings with others, were as well known as was the 
excellence of his dramatic writings. The words written 
by Greene, and the recantation made by his friend 
and editor, are important contributions to our know- 



22 ENGLISH POETS. 

ledge of Shakespeare's character and position. Greene 
tells us that his rival had gained, in 1592, a great suc- 
cess; and Chettle tells us the success was fairly won. If 
Chettle had written in the style of our own times, he 
would have said briefly that, in the old and true mean- 
ing of the word, Shakespeare was a gentleman. The 
testimonials referred to in Chettle's recantation were 
given by men of high respectability. It is clear, then, 
that the poet's reputation was Avell established as early 
as 1592. 

A word is hardly wanted to remind any reader that, in 
the times of Marlowe, Chapman, and Shakespeare, the 
style of writing prevalent in dramatic and epic poetry 
was energetic, bold, and luxuriant. A freedom of ex- 
pression that in our time would be called licence, was 
esteemed as one of the essential traits of poetry. These 
qualities, with others of a higher kind, are all found 
in Shakespeare's first published poem — " Venus and 
Adonis," which appeared in 1593. Most probably the 
poet had been introduced as early as 1589 to his young 
friend and patron, Henry Wriothesley, Earl of South- 
ampton, who concluded his studies at Cambridge and 
came to London before he was twenty years old. 
In a dedication addressed to Southampton, the poet 
spoke of his work as hardly v/orthy of his patron's notice, 
and promised that, if well received, it should be followed 
by " some graver labour." Accordingly, in the following 
year, he dedicated to his young friend the tragic narra- 



SHAKESPEARE. 23 

tive poem " Lucrece," and in the dedication wrote these 
words : — " What I have done is yours ; what I have to 
do is yours." These words accord well with many ex- 
pressions found in the sonnets written in the course of 
a few years following the first publication of " Lucrece." 
The two narrative poems are alike remarkable, as evi- 
dences of strong imagination united with boundless wealth 
and freedom of expression. Their faults belong to the 
times in which they appeared. 

The assertion already made — that, as early as 1 592, 
Shakespeare's character as a poet and a player of the 
higher class was established, has been confirmed by the 
researches of Mr. Halliwell. To this gentleman we are 
indebted for our knowledge of the poet's position in 
1594. In that year the Queen's Treasurer of the 
Chamber paid to William Kempe, WILLIAM SHAKE- 
SPEARE, and Richard Burbage (described as " servants to 
the Lord Chamberlain "), several sums of money as pay- 
ment, and " by way of Her Majesty's reward," for " two 
comedies showed by them before Her Majesty, in 
Christmas time last past — namely, upon St. Stephen's 
Day and Innocents' Day." In the same year the same 
company of players, Shakespeare, Kempe, and Burbage 
— as one of the two companies who were licensed and 
were patronized by the Queen — made application for a 
renewal of their licence to give dramatic performances at 
a tavern, the Cross Keys in Gracechurch Street. No 
evidence has been found to show that Shakespeare was, 



24 ENGLISH POETS. 

at that time or afterwards, one of the proprietors of any 
theatre ; but as an actor he would, of course, have his 
share of " the house money " and " the gallery money " 
— in other words, a share in the profits gained by per- 
formances of his own plays and others. It is obvious 
that the old story of his playing no part save that of the 
Ghost in "Hamlet" is contradicted by the facts here 
given, as well as by the fact that in 1598 he took a part 
in one of Ben Jonson's comedies. 

In 1596, when he paid a visit to his native place, the 
poet had already gained money enough to make his own 
circumstances easy, though by no means wealthy, and it 
is pleasant to observe that about the same time the 
family of John Shakespeare, at Stratford-on-Avon, were 
released from pecuniary difficulties, and restored to their 
former social position. In 1557, when he married, John 
Shakespeare took possession of a farm of fifty-four acres, 
besides some houses and tenements. Twenty years 
later — when the poet was a boy, twelve years old — the 
father found himself compelled to mortgage his farm and 
some tenements. But in 1596, when the poet's own cir- 
cumstances were good, a grant of arms was made to his 
father. The Shakespeares of Stratford-on-Avon were 
then comparatively prosperous. This coincidence accords 
well with a natural belief that the man who wrote " King 
Lear " was a kind and thankful son. There can be no 
reason for doubting that at various times, of which no 
memoranda have been preserved, he came down to his 



SHAKESPEARE. 25 

native place. The vague rumour that he was a cold or 
unkind husband is founded on nothing better than the 
misconstruction of a few words added to his will. How 
welcome to the poet, coming down from London — from 
the overwork and excitement of the stage — that interval 
of repose in 1596 must have been ! But it was a time of 
rest not undisturbed by grief; for then he buried, at 
Stratford-on-Avon, his only son, Hamnet, who died when 
twelve years old. In the following year the poet again 
visited his native town, and there bought, for sixty 
pounds, a house called New Place, with two barns and 
two gardens. In the same year, John Shakespeare, the 
father, filed a bill in Chancery for a recovery of the farm 
that had been mortgaged in 1577. Here is another 
pleasing coincidence. 

In 1598 the first theatre, situate near Finsbury Fields, 
was finally closed, and its materials were used for build- 
ing the new theatre called the Globe. At that time 
Shakespeare still belonged to one of the two companies 
of players licensed by the Lord Chamberlain, and 
engaged now and then to prepare comedies and other 
plays to be performed in the presence of the Queen. 
The players belonging to a third company were at the 
same time denounced by authority as unlicensed in- 
truders, who had never " prepared any play for Her 
Majesty," and were not obedient, as were the two licensed 
companies, to rules and regulations prescribed by the 
Master of the Revels. Orders were, therefore, given by 
E 



26 ENGLISH POETS. 

the Lord Admiral and the Lord Chamberlain, that the 
said Master of the Revels and the Justices of the Peace 
in Middlesex and Surrey should put in force measures 
for the suppression of unlicensed players. This prohibi- 
tion serves to show that, in 1 598, Shakespeare had still 
the advantage of being recognized as one in a licensed 
company of players, distinguished as " Her Majesty's 
servants." In this capacity he was engaged, in the course 
of the same year, as one of the actors in a performance 
of Ben Jonson's comedy, " Every Man in His Humour." 
This fact leads us to notice Jonson's eulogy of Shake- 
speare. 

After all that has been said of Jonson's self-esteem, 
his pride of learning, and his want of feeling for the finer 
tones in Shakespeare's poetry, there can be no doubt that 
the distance between the two poets was clearly seen, 
though not exactly measured by Jonson. His own 
defects served to make the eulogy more remarkable. 
Jonson could hate a rival, and could express bitterly his 
contempt of men inferior to himself. Vague and indis- 
criminate "hero-worship," though the hero was the 
greatest of poets, had often made Jonson angry. But 
these considerations and others serve to make his eulogy 
more glorious. It forms a fine contrast to the mysterious 
silence of Lord Bacon, and to the " faint praise " of 
smaller cotemporaries. Let it be recalled to mind that 
one of Jonson's own admirers, when referring to the 
English drama of the sixteenth century, would not name 



SNA KESPEARE. 27 

Shakespeare, but addressed to Jonson an ode praising 
him as the sole creator of English dramatic poetry. 
Other examples of the same kind might be given. The 
eulogy written by Ben Jonson is a solitary and noble 
monument, telling us that Shakespeare's greatness was 
fully recognized by one of his cotemporaries. Jonson 
describes his friend as " honest " (in the old and true 
sense), and as " a man of an open and free nature ; " 
then goes on to say : — " I do honour him, on this side 
idolatry, as much as any." With manly independence he 
notices, without admiration, the poet's extreme facility 
in writing, and regrets that it was not followed by greater 
care in revision and severity in cancelling. These and 
other expressions of fair criticism make more remarkable 
such lines as the following : — 

" He was not for an age, but for all time, 
And all the Muses still were in their prime 
When, like Apollo, he came forth." 

If Jonson could Avrite thus of Shakespeare, why were 
many cotemporaries silent .-* Lord Bacon's imaginative 
powers would surely make him a critic well qualified for 
recognizing the presence of a great poet ; but, with re- 
spect to inferior men, it may be noticed that a strange 
fatality of error, in extreme laudation or undeserved con- 
tempt, too often attends cotemporary criticism. In our 
own century, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Keats and 
Shelley have been condemned, and would have been sup- 
pressed, if it had been possible. In Shakespeare's time, 



28 ENGLISH POETS. 

many readers, who admired the rich imagery and fluent 
diction of his narrative poems, could not appreciate fairly 
the nobler characteristics of his plays. As one exception 
Francis Meres may be named. His book, published in 
1598, contains praise of Shakespeare's poems (including 
the sonnets), and of several plays Meres writes in terms 
which, though inadequate, are intended to express ad- 
miration. The plays to which he refers include the fol- 
lowing : — The " Two Gentlemen of Verona," the 
" Comedy of Errors," " Love's Labour's Lost," the " Mid- 
summer Night's Dream," the " Merchant of Venice," 
" Richard the Second," " Richard the Third," " Henry 
the Fourth," "King John," "Titus Andronicus," and 
" Romeo and Juliet." 

The notices preserved of Shakespeare's life, during 
eleven years following 1600, are scanty. In 1601 his 
father died at Stratford-on-Avon, and the poet's friend, 
Southampton — accused as one of the accomplices of 
Essex — was sent to the Tower. Soon afterwards the 
poet seems to have visited his native place, for in 1602 
the property called New Place was increased by a pur- 
chase of land lying between the house and the Avon. 
Shakespeare's name appears in a licence granted to a 
company of players in the year 1603, and in the time 
1 600-4 several of his plays were printed. 

The sonnets, which have given rise to so much con- 
troversy, were noticed, as we have seen, as early as 1 598, 
but were first collected and printed in 1609, when they 



SHAKESPEARE. 29 

were introduced by the following hopeless riddle, given 
in the shape of a dedication : " To the only Begetter of 
these ensuing Sonnets, Mr. W. H., all happiness and 
that eternity promised by our ever-living Poet wisheth 
the well-wishing adventurer in setting forth, T. T." The 
first seventeen of the sonnets are addressed to a young 
Adonis, In others are found admiration of beauty, 
declarations of love and of friendship, complaints refer- 
ring to adverse circumstances, solemn thoughts of mor- 
tality, and expressions of a belief in the immortality of 
fame bestowed by poetry. Here and there are given 
passages of grave admonition, and some expressions are 
found that may be called mystical. The wealth of illus- 
tration, especially of images derived from the four seasons 
of the year, is abundant, and there are several sonnets, 
so individual and so earnest, that they seem to flow 
directly from the writer's heart. The history of this 
little book of sonnets is hardly less remarkable than its 
contents. One editor, Steevens, talks of an Act of Par- 
liament as hardly strong enough to make a man read 
such verses. This flippant criticism was denounced by 
Coleridge and by Wordsworth. The latter, perhaps too 
boldly and indiscriminately, maintained that in these 
poems Shakespeare expressed, " in his own person, his 
own feelings." One elaborate exposition of the sonnets 
treats them as a dramatic series, and finds in them 
references to the love-affairs of Southampton, and those 
of the Earl of Pembroke, who, in his >'outh, was named 



30 ENGLISH POETS. 

William Herbert. This theory is opposed by a writer 
who maintains that the sonnets should be viewed as a 
collection of fugitive pieces, put together mostly without 
any regard for order, and dedicated to Southampton by 
W. H., who (as the critic says) might be William 
Hathaway, one of the poet's relatives. Lastly may be 
noticed the opinion of one of Shakespeare's most careful 
editors. Mr. Dyce expresses a belief that the sonnets 
were mostly written in an assumed character, and for 
the amusement of the author's friends, and that, while 
one or two may reflect the poet's own feelings, the whole 
series must not be accepted as having reference to his 
personal circumstances. Perhaps the word " several " 
might here be well substituted for the words " one or 
two." The Sonnets addressed by Sydney to " Stella " 
may be noticed to show that, in his time, such poems 
might be unreal, and have no reference to facts. The 
expressions of love and friendship found in such poems 
must obviously be interpreted with a reference to tastes 
prevalent at the time when the Sonnets were written. 

In 1611 " The Tempest " was performed, perhaps for 
the first time. If it could be proved that this was the 
writer's last work, there might be found, in the conclu- 
sion, a reference to his own feelings. After more than 
twenty years of intellectual work, he was thinking of 
quiet, green fields and a home near the Avon, and he 
might well repeat, with reference to himself, some 
words spoken by the magician. In 161 2, or about that 



SHAKESPEARE. 31 

time, when his annual income was probably equivalent 
to a respectable competency, the Poet left London, 
and retired to New Place at Stratford-on-Avon. He was 
then only forty-eight years old ; but his true age, measured 
by work and expenditure of power, might, in all pro- 
bability, exceed the age indicated by that number of his 
years. He might use truly, speaking in his own person, 
the words he had written some time before his final 
retirement : — 

" That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold — 
Bare, ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
As, after sunset, fadeth in the west, 
Which, by-and-by, black night doth take away, 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest." 

The Poet died at Stratford-on-Avon, on the 23rd of 
April, in the year 161 6. By his will, executed in March, 
161 6, he bequeathed to his wife the "second best bed," 
and these words, oddly misconstrued, have been sup- 
posed to imply some want of kindness. His widow, who 
was sixty years old at the time of his decease, died in 
1623. There remains now no lineal representative of 
the Poet. The name Shakespeare might be supposed 
to have reference to some peculiar incident in the history 
of one family ; but it is borne by several unconnected 
families. 

In 1623 the Poet's dramatic writings were first col- 



32 ENGLISH POETS. 

lected in a folio entitled "Mr. William Shakespeare's 
Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies." Other editions in 
folio appeared in the years 1632, 1663, and 1685. A com- 
plete list of later editions, of translations, and of com- 
mentaries, English, German, and American, would fill a 
volume. Ben Jonson's words — retrospective in form, but 
implying a remarkable prediction — have been fulfilled. 
Great poets and able critics have been rivals in the task 
of exploring and setting forth the wealth of the Poet, 
" Who was not for an age, but for all time." 
Is it credible that all the plays ascribed to Shake- 
speare were written by one man, in the course of about 
twenty years t The question implies wonder, arising, 
not from ignorance, but from insight. Careful investi- 
gation may justify the subtraction of some inferior 
portions of several plays, and of such coarse passages as 
might be foisted in by audacious actors. But it can 
hardly be doubted that the great Poet was compelled to 
write with some submission to " the emergencies of the 
stage," as it existed in his time. Under the pressure of 
association with players urged by precarious circum- 
stances, he would sometimes find himself constrained to 
amend, re-cast, or complete work partly done by inferior 
men. He perhaps referred to work of that description 
when he said : — 

" Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
And almost thence my nature is subdued 
To what it works in — like the dyer's hand." 



SHAKESPEARE. 33 

But, when all reasonable subtraction is made from 
plays ascribed to Shakespeare, he is a gainer by the loss. 
There exists no doubt that the greatest and best plays 
are substantially the work of one man. The wonder 
attending his name can never be suppressed, but may 
be, in some degree, moderated by studies of life and 
literature in the sixteenth century. Marvellous powers 
of intellect and imagination were, at that time, the at- 
tendants of stormy passions. To supply expression for 
newly excited powers of thought, a vast expansion of the 
English language took place with great rapidity. With 
respect, therefore, to the energy and wealth of poetic 
diction, the arrival of Shakespeare had been heralded by 
preceding writers. But, with regard to the truth, the 
power, the beauty and the variety of his dramatic poetry, 
his appearance, after all that had been done, was like 
a sudden coming-on of Summer, immediately after a 
stormy March. 

The Poet's dramatic writings may be collectively called 
a whole world of poetry. To notice, within concise 
limits, the scenery and the people of that world — its 
contrasts and harmonies, heights and depths, beauties 
and deformities — the rapidity of Ariel's flight would be 
required. We may, however, give some aid to young 
readers who would explore the wealth of thought, 
feeling, and imagery found in Shakespeare's world. 

First may be noticed the harmonizing of natural scenery 
with the motives and ideas of several dramas. In "The 
F 



34 ENGLISH POETS. 

Tempest," when the usurper and his company are cast by 
a storm on the island, seas and shores, " all creatures," 
conspire to punish them, until their "heart's sorrow" 
leads to a better life. In " As You Like It '' the tone 
of the whole play accords well with the freedom and 
gladness o( life in the Forest of Arden. There — 

" . • • lif<?, exempt from public haunt, 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

How well the wild, desolate heath, the thunder and 
lightning, accord with the passions expressed in " King 
Lear" and in " Macbeth ! " The forsaken and dejected 
woman, Mariana, dwells " at the moated grange." The 
playfulness of " Love's Labour's Lost " has for its scenery 
a park. In the closing scene of the " Merchant of 
Venice," the moon and the stars shine clearly along the 
avenue and on banks of lawn at the mansion Belmont. 
In the " Midsummer Night's Dream " we pass from the 
Duke's palace to the cottage, where Quince musters his 
company of grotesque players ; then we go to the wood 
near Athens, and away into the faery-land of Oberon 
and Titania. The scene is a garden, and the moon " tips 
with silver all these fruit-tree tops," when Romeo de- 
clares his love. As Coleridge observes, all these and other 
fine concords are parts of one general harmony, such 
as is found in a landscape, where trees, ferns, and flowers, 
however various, all grow on one soil and in one climate. 

Turning from the scenery to the people in Shake- 



SHAKESPEARE. 35 

speare's world, we find individuality even in his less 
complex creations. Caliban is brutal, but his fear of 
being placed still lower in Nature's scale makes him 
distinct from Barnardine, whose "stubborn soul" is 
" fearless of what's past, present, or to come." Among 
rustic people, mechanics, clowns, and servants, each has 
some peculiar trait. William, the " youth in the forest," 
is modest, but he cannot be mistaken for Launce. The 
obtrusive self-esteem of Bottom makes him distinct from 
all the other players in his company. The keen irony of 
the fool in " King Lear," the logical humour of Touch- 
stone, and the melodious talent of the clown in " What 
You Will," afford other specimens of individuality in 
subordinate characters. 

But it is in the creation of more complex characters 
that the Poet chiefly displays his power. How many are 
his variations of which one principle — self-esteem— is the 
key-note ! Nothing can be more vague than the word 
" egotist," as commonly used ; but egotism, as treated 
by the Poet, has shades and tones and degrees, too many 
to be counted here. Neither Dogberry nor Shallow can 
be described by that dull, abstract word — egotist. In 
Dogberry self-esteem is solemn, magisterial, and has no 
alliance with any affectation. He is a truthful man, and 
we believe him when he refers to his sad losses of pro- 
perty. But we do not believe Shallow's stories of wild 
frolics in his youth, and we have no faith in his pathos 
when he thus refers to his dear, departed friends : — 



36 ENGLISH POETS. 

" Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very sure : death, as the Psalmist 
saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks 
at Stamford fair? " 

Shallow reminds us of a far greater man, of the most 
complete of all humorous creations — Falstafif. A volume 
would be wanted for the analysis of that character. 
Little is said when we call it a blending of contrasts. 
This may be found in many inferior creatures of imagin- 
ation. In the " Winter's Tale," we find, for example, 
a love of green fields and a jollity as innocent as a lark's 
blended with the lower traits of that vagabond and pick- 
pocket, Autolycus, whose self-esteem finds consolation 
in the thought that he was born to be a thief, or, in other 
words, " was littered under Mercury." 

In far higher combinations the same principle — self- 
esteem — is found in such great and strong souls as Julius 
Caesar, Coriolanus, Othello, and Lady Macbeth. Though 
like one another in that one element, as in their strength 
of will, they stand forth so clearly distinct one from an- 
other, that men at the present time talk of them as 
of so many living persons. Other motives might be 
noticed to show the Poet's power in the various combina- 
tions of one principle. Thersites — like lago — is envious, 
malicious, and slanderous ; but here the likeness ends. 
On the former we look down with contempt, from the 
latter we shrink with horror. 

The monotony of many love-stories is proverbial, but 
it is not found in the stories told by Shakespeare. True ; 



SHA KE SPEA R E. 37 

we find some likeness of words and sentiments, but the 
old, old story is varied by lights and shades, like those 
cast by clouds and sunshine over a landscape. 

" Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 

Could ever hear, by tale or history, 

The course of true love never did run smooth : 

But either it was different in blood ; 

Or if there were a sympathy in choice. 

War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 

Making it momentary as a sound, 

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, 

Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 

That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth. 

And ere a man hath power to say ' Behold ! ' 

The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 

So quick, bright things come to confusion." 

That is said by Lysander, in the " Midsummer Night's 
Dream;" and one of his thoughts is repeated by the 
heroine in "Romeo and Juliet," when she says : 

" Well, do not swear : although I joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be. 
Ere one can say — ' It lightens.' " 

Here is a likeness in two passages ; but how widely 
different the stories of Lysander and Romeo ! One is a 
dream, associated with scenes in faery-land ; the other is 
a tale of love in conflict with cruel destiny. Other 
modulations of the same everlasting theme are recalled 
by the names : Portia, Beatrice, Rosalind, Miranda, and 
Desdemona. 



3S £.\GL/S// POEJS. 

Poets have said too little of friendship, and too little 
of the deep and quiet aflections, parental and filial love ; 
but tliese are elements included in Shakespeare's world 
of poetry. In " King Lear," the filial love of Cordelia 
sheds light over all the terrors of the tragedy. Corio- 
lanus. the strong and noble man, is overcome at last ; but 
nothing less than nature's own might subdues him. The 
supplications of his wife and his boy are united with his 
mother's prayers, to break down the iron will against 
whicli a world in arms could do nothing. 

Caution and modesty are demanded when we speak 
of a general meaning or purport in one of Shakespeare's 
plays. Here slow inquir>' is better tlian rash judgment. 
The Poet allows his characters to speak for tliemselves, 
and not as direct reporters of his own thoughts and 
sentiments. He would not be a dramatist if he made 
every speaker a teacher of good morals. Nevertlieless, 
works of art, including poetry, must, with respect to their 
general tones and tendencies, have some relationship 
with moral culture and social interests. There can be 
no doubt that the general, the ultimate tendencies of 
Shakespeare's best plays are good and healthful. Though 
direct moral lessons are not the passages that display the 
Poet's po^\•er, he has given them in such abundance, that 
they have supplied materials for several volumes of 
selections from his works. Here and there he gives hot 
only advice, but also the grounds or reasons by which it 
may be supported. A remarkable example is found in 
" Troilus and Cressida," act iii. scene 3. 



SHAKESPEARE. 39 

There are found, in the plays ascribed to Shakespeare, 
some objectionable passages which, in all probability, he 
did not write. At the same time, it would be ridiculous 
to imagine that he was a precisian. He wrote, no doubt, 
many of the passages in which boldness and licence of 
expression, characteristic of his times, seem carried be- 
yond due bounds. Of all virtues and graces in writing, 
reserve was the last to be dreamed of by an Elizabethan 
dramatist. A land may be fair, and on the whole may 
be well cultivated, though it includes some fenny dis- 
tricts. Nothing is here said with reference to two plays, 
of which the authorship seems partly dubious. On in- 
ferior passages in others it would be bad taste to dwell. 
It would be like turning away from the lights to peer 
into the darkest shades of some old picture. 

Turning from morals to politics, we find some interest 
in the question — do the historical plays tell anything of 
the writer's views of society and government .' Several 
of the characters introduced speak forcibly on the side 
of authority, and for the conservation of old institutions, 
while in several plays, especially in "Coriolanus" and 
" Julius Caesar," demagogues and their followers are 
treated with humorous contempt. But must such ex- 
pressions be regarded as more than dramatic .^ Does the 
zest with which the poet wrote some invectives against 
mob-leaders betray his own antipathy.^ That question 
may be left open. Of his general religious sentiments 
more may be said, with some degree of confidence. 



40 ENGLISH POETS. 

The so-called religious controversy raging in his time 
must be noticed, if we would place in fair contrast with 
its bitterness the tolerant and reverent words of the 
Poet. He lived in times when kingdoms were disturbed 
by contentions arising from differences of belief. In 
England men were divided into three classes — members of 
the Established Church, Roman Catholics, and Puritans. 
Some of their disputes were carried on in a style described 
mildly in a few words written by Lord Bacon : — 

" It is more than time," he says, " that there were an end made 
of that immodest and deformed manner of writing whereby matters 
of religion are handled in the style of the stage." 

The Puritans — stern enemies of the stage — said many 
bitter things of players. How does Shakespeare reply t 
In "What You Will" a Puritan is named respectfully, 
and is favourably placed in contrast with " a time- 
pleaser." Other religious men, without reference to 
their several creeds, are treated with respect. The 
"friars" introduced in "Romeo and Juliet" and "Much 
Ado About Nothing" are both represented as good and 
kind men. In " As You Like It," forms of public worship 
are referred to as bonds of society and as defences against 
barbarism. The general purport of the historical play 
" King Henry VIII." is truly religious, and may be 
reduced to a summary given in the words of Cardinal 
Wolsey : — 

" Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 



SHAKESPEARE. \\ 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? 

Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; 

Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 

And, — Prithee, lead me in : 

There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last peimy ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 

And my integrity to heaven, is all 

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 

I serv'd my king. He would not in mine age 

Have left me naked to mine enemies." 

A word is hardly wanted to refer to several passages 
indicating the Poet's belief in an unseen world. He 
speaks of death as a transition, not as an extinction. 
Several remarkable expressions found in his plays might 
be placed together with others found in his sonnets, to 
show that a tendency to meditation on mortality and on 
a future state of existence was one of the Poet's own 
characteristics. The fears named in Hamlet's well- 
known soliloquy are more fully expressed by Claudio (in 
*' Measure for Measure "), when he is pleading for his 
own life. 

As all the world knows, two of the most eloquent of 

all passages in the plays are pleas in behalf of mercy 

and forgiveness. The first is Portia's appeal in the 

" Merchant of Venice ;" the second is found in " Measure 

G 



42 ENGLISH POETS. 

for Measure." An Israelite may regret that, in the 
former appeal, the Poet — accepting an old tradition — 
ascribes an intensely revengeful feeling to a Jew. Let 
it be remembered, on the other side, that we are clearly 
told how Shylock was made cruel by persecuting men 
who called themselves Christians. Here the Poet cannot 
be called one-sided in his reprobation of a persecuting 
and vindictive temper. 

Was Shakespeare's own creed one in accordance with 
the established orthodoxy of his own times .-* That is 
another of the questions that may be left open. One truth 
is as clear as daylight ; he speaks of kindness, reverence, 
and mercy as including the essential elements of the 
Christian religion. He was not a bigot, though he lived in 
times when too many accepted bigotry as a sort of quint- 
essence of piety. The words which he used when speak- 
ing of some harsh constructions of law were, moreover, 
truly descriptive of the intolerance prevalent in his day : — 

" Could great men thunder 
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but thunder." 

The general tone of Shakespeare whenever he refers 
to controversies is moderate and conciliatory. It was, 
doubtless, the natural expression of his own temper. 
All the powers of his genius, without a motive power of 
love, would not have sufficed to create such a world of 
kindness, playfulness, and good humour as we find in 
his best comedies. 



SHAKESPEARE. 43 

The good temper of the Poet seems, in some instances, 
to have communicated itself to the men who have studied 
his writings. He has instituted among men of several 
nations a new bond of fellowship. On their common 
estimate of his genius has been founded an intellectual 
union of students, dwelling in England, Germany, and 
America. There must exist an affinity between the 
creative mind of the Poet and the receptive mind of a 
genial critic or commentator. The men who find delight 
in studies of the Poet's writings may fairly claim some true, 
though perhaps distant, relationship with his genius. 

Of all the questions that have engaged the attention 
of Shakespearean students, the most difficult may here 
be named : — Do the Poet's writings reveal his own 
general views of life > There are men called optimists 
who, like Paley, believe that, throughout the world, good 
predominates over evil. On the other hand, men have 
lived whose meditations have ended with a belief in the 
predominance of physical and moral evil. They have, 
moreover, maintained the theory that evil and suffering 
are inseparably united with life itself. This was the 
doctrine taught by the founder of Buddhism. Could 
Shakespeare accept such teaching as that 1 True ; he 
sounded the depths of misanthropy in " Timon of 
Athens," and in " Hamlet" are found cogitations that 

" sink as low 
As, through the abysses of a joyless heart, 
The heaviest plummet of despair can go." 



44 ENGLISH POETS. 

But can despair of mankind be ascribed to the author 
of the " Tempest," and the other plays ending happily 
with conciliation? Could he have sympathy, stronger 
than that which is called dramatic, with such feelings as 
have driven religious men into drear cells in desert places, 
and have urged them to make as slender as possible 
their attachments to life ? 

There is a third class of meditative men. They see 
and feel the beauty and the happiness of life in its most 
favourable conditions, while they are not unconscious of 
the misery existing in the world. Their consolation is 
derived from a faith that looks beyond the boundary of 
their experience. Does this third class include the 
greatest of our poets } Or is it possible that, in all his 
various writings, he makes no personal confession, and 
gives us no means of knowing his own deepest thoughts } 
Such reserve is by no means easily maintained. In the 
series of "novels and romances by the Author of Waver- 
ley," the writer, in spite of all his caution, told the world 
almost everything about himself, excepting his name. 
It by no means follows, that the greatest of all dramatic 
poets would, to the same extent, make manifest his own 
character ; but these questions remain : — Did he make no 
indirect confession .^ Is there none discoverable, in the 
predominance of some tendencies, or in the frequent 
recurrence of certain thoughts and sentiments .? Much 
caution will be required if any attempt be made to find 
answers to such questions. 



SHAKESPEARE. 45 

Of all the complex characters found in the Poet's 
plays, Hamlet's is the most individual and most mys- 
terious. Nevertheless, it seems to include some traits 
corresponding with expressions that may be accepted as 
having reference to the Poet's own experience. Nothing 
is here said of the story in the play. The traits referred 
to are those found in Hamlet's own character. He is a 
youth endowed with genius, goodness of heart, and 
general amiability. In his mind a vigorous poetical 
imagination is combined with a tendency to meditation. 
He is associated with players, and is well acquainted 
with the rules of dramatic art. His character, as seen 
before the time when it suffered alteration, is described in 
words telling us that he is, at once as a courtier, a scholar, 
and a soldier, "the observed of all observers." Above all, 
he is a devoted son and a most faithful friend. The aspi- 
rations of a youth thus endowed are naturally such as can 
have no fulfilment, save in a world as bright and happy as 
his own world of imagination. From that Paradise, made 
complete by the presence of Ophelia, he is suddenly ex- 
pelled. The brightness of the early hopes there cherished 
is implied in the words telling of their desolation : — 

" This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; 
this most excellent canopy, the air (look you) — this brave, o'erhang- 
ing firmament — this majestical roof fretted with golden fire — why, 
it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congre- 
gation of vapours." 

The irony of Hamlet, his long discourse on acting (in 



46 ENGLISH POETS. 

which he seeks diversion of his grief), his bitter words 
that spring from kindness, his strange speeches to 
Ophelia, whom he still loves : all are expressions of a 
desolation that, for him, seems spread over the whole 
universe. The scene in the churchyard accords well 
with the whole tone of the play, and indicates that, for 
Hamlet, death is the only possible way to re'st. His 
delay in executing vengeance on the guilty arises not 
from weakness but from kindness, and serves to prolong 
and make more intense his own suffering. At last, 
almost without an exertion of his own will, the guilty 
fall, and Hamlet dies. There is, in the deaths of Hamlet 
and Ophelia, an apparent victory of evil. But no stain 
has fallen upon their lives. True and pure as when they 
first loved each other, they die. Youth, beauty, hopes 
of happiness perish, and when Hamlet, expiring, says 
" The rest is silence," he leaves his friend to feel a grief 
" too deep for tears." At the same time, when speak- 
ing of " this harsh world," he implies his belief in another 
state of being, and so the conclusion of the tragedy calls 
the mind away from a world of passion, guilt, and grief, 
to find repose in resignation, and in thoughts of a life 
where all passions are stilled. 

The conflict of good with evil may seem a thought too 
old and commonplace to be accepted as the theme in 
the tragedy of "Hamlet." But the Poet's genius is 
displayed by giving to that central idea a form of 
development that may be called intensely individual. 



SHAKESPEARE. 47 

All reference to the story must be set aside when some 
traits in Hamlet's character are considered as expressions 
of the Poet's own thoughts. It is not for a moment to 
be supposed that anything like Hamlet's overwhelming 
sorrow ever formed a part of Shakespeare's personal 
history. But it is more than probable, that the clear 
daylight of his intellectual lifetime was preceded by a 
gloomy and stormy night. His own references to " the 
spite of fortune," to his " public means " of winning a 
subsistence, and to his " nature subdued," by the emer- 
gencies of the stage: these are passages that recall to 
mind some of Hamlet's complaints. Studies of the con- 
dition of the London Stage, and of the lives of players 
in the Elizabethan time, may make it more than pro- 
bable that the Poet, in the earlier stages of his career, 
was painfully conscious of a hard strife existing between 
his own ideas and his actual circumstances. " That he 
stooped to accommodate himself to the people is suffi- 
ciently apparent " (says Wordsworth), " and one of the 
most striking proofs of his almost omnipotent genius is, 
that he could turn to such glorious purpose those mate- 
rials which the prepossessions of the age compelled him 
to make use of. Yet even this marvellous skill appears 
not to have been enough to prevent his rivals from having 
some advantage over him in public estimation ; else how 
can we account for passages and scenes that exist in his 
works, unless upon a supposition that some of the 
grossest of them — a fact which, in my own mind, I have 



48 ENGLISH POETS. 

no doubt of— were foisted in by the players, for the 
gratification of the many?" 

The theory here maintained by Wordsworth, as his 
own belief, might be confirmed by many references 
to dramatic literature in the age of Elizabeth. There 
can hardly remain a doubt that Shakespeare often sighed 
when he found that his own deepest thoughts and his 
most refined expressions were coldly received in theatres, 
where passages in which he stooped so low as to follow 
Marlowe and Greene were hailed with thunders of 
applause ! Regret, following such instances of conde- 
scension, seems to be expressed in such Hnes as the 
following : — 

" O for my sake do thou with fortune chide. 

The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 

That did not better for my life provide, 

Than public means, which public manners breeds. 

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 

And almost thence my nature is subdued 

To what it works in, like the dyer's hand." 

In these lines, as in other expressions, read with 
reference to facts for commentary, may be found evi- 
dence that the Poet, during one part of his life, endured 
a hard struggle with adverse circumstances. How could 
he feel himself at home and with friends in his early asso- 
ciation with such players as are represented by Robert 
Greene ; with men who could call the Poet " an upstart 
crow," classify him with " apes and puppets," and de- 



SHAKESPEARE. 49 

scribe him as one having " a tiger's heart wrapped in a 
player's hide?" 

Let men of genius be patient if their merits are not 
speedily recognized. Two centuries passed away before 
the world would believe that all the eulogy bestowed by 
Ben Jonson, and more than all that praise, was deserved 
by his cotemporary, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 





MILTON. 




OHN MILTON was born in Bread Street, 
Cheapside, London, on the ninth of Decem- 
ber, 1608. There exists evidence in favour 
of a belief that the Poet's grandfather was a 
Catholic, who had a farm near Shotover, in Oxfordshire. 
In the same district there lived — at Forest Hill, not far 
from Oxford — a Cavalier family bearing the name Powell, 
and most probably friendly relations were maintained 
between the Miltons and the Powells. It is also probable 
that the Poet's father was disinherited because he had 
declared himself a Protestant. He went to London, and 
there established himself as a scrivener ; but his routine 
of drawing legal contracts was often relieved by a taste 
for vocal music. Some lovers of choral harmony were 
numbered among his friends, and he composed several 
psalm-tunes, including one called " York," well known 
in our own times. His musical taste was inherited by 



52 ENGLISH POETS. 

the Poet, whose writings abound in references to the 
power of harmony. 

When twelve years old, Milton was sent to St. Paul's 
School, and it is clear that, during his four years' course 
of studies, he was very diligent in learning. At school 
he won the friendship of Charles Diodati, by descent on 
the father's side an Italian, but " in all other respects," 
as Milton says, " English." About seventeen years old, 
Milton went to Cambridge and was admitted at Christ 
Church College. There his favourite studies were the 
writings of Greek and Roman poets, and before he was 
twenty years old he wrote Latin elegies deserving high 
commendation. The scrivener was hardly pleased by 
his son's devotion to poetry, and, with reference to some 
parental reproof, young Milton addressed to his father 
some Latin verses, reminding him that music and poetry 
are sisters. " How can you wonder," said the writer, 
" that a musician's son should be a poet t We are both 
inspired by Apollo." That this belief— so far as it re- 
ferred to himself — was well founded was soon proved, 
when, at the age of twenty-one, he wrote in English his 
" Hymn on the Nativity," which contains all the finest 
elements of his later poetry. One stanza is enough to 
show that at that age he could write in a sublime strain. 
Thus he described the advent of " the Prince of 
Peace" : — 

"No war or battle's sound 
Was heard the world around ; 



MILTON. 53 

The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; 

The hooked chariot stood 

Unstain'd with human blood ; 
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 
And kings sat still, with awful eye, 
As if they surely knew their Sovereign Lord was by." 

A sonnet, dated two years later than the " Hymn," 
tells us that the writer, though he had been since his 
twelfth year a diligent student, still retained a youthful 
appearance. From other sources we learn that he had a 
fair complexion, with luxuriant light brown hair and 
dark grey eyes, and that his voice was melodious. In 
1632 he graduated as M.A., and soon afterwards left, 
without any regret, the flat pastures of Cambridgeshire. 

Meanwhile his father, retired from business, had left 
London, and had gone to live at Horton, a village near 
Windsor. There, in rural quietude, the Poet continued 
his extensive course of reading, including the best litera- 
ture of modern European languages, and there, while 
dwelling amid green fields and woodlands, he produced 
the two lyrical-descriptive poems, " L' Allegro" and "II 
Penseroso." In both a love of nature's life and its genial 
transitions finds expression in melodious tones. Each 
of these twin-poems tells the story of a day spent among 
woods, fields, and hamlets, and each tells us that the 
colours of the outward world are partly " borrowed from 
the heart." The joyous man, " L'Allegro," rises early, 

" To hear the lark begin his flight 
And, singing, startle the dull night 



54 ENGLISH POETS. 

From his watch-tower in the skies, 
Till the dappled morn doth rise." 

Then, coming to the margin of a wide river, he sees 
on the opposite bank the " towers and battlements" of a 
stately mansion 

" Bosom'd high in tufted trees, 
Where, perhaps, some Beauty lies 
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes." 

From the mansion and the dream the Poet turns away 
to find contentment in the cottage 

" Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, 
Are at their savoury dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes 
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses." 

At eventide, leaving peasants dancing in the shade, 
the mirthful man returns to town, there to find pleasure 
in the pageantry of a masque, or to see one of Shake- 
speare's comedies. And with strains of Lydian music 
the day comes to a close. 

The meditative man, " II Penseroso," also loves rural 
sights and sounds, but with him all hues and tones are 
made to harmonize with a calm and pensive mind. He 
loves the subdued light of grey dawn, and from noon- 
day brightness retires into the shade of a wood. Its 
shadows remind him of another calm place — the cathe- 
dral. Then follows one of many passages in which Mil- 
ton writes well of music : — 



MILTON. 55 

" There let the pealing organ blow 

To the full-voiced quire below, 

In service high and anthems clear, 

As may, with sweetness, through mine ear. 

Dissolve me into ecstasies, 

And bring all heaven before mine eyes." 

The thought of the last two lines is expanded in an- 
other poem on " Solemn Music." This blending of 
imagination and aesthetic taste with religion mostly 
belongs to minds who like old forms better than new, 
dislike hard logic, and would make Faith herself the 
sister of Poetry. Hence it might be imagined that 
Milton, while living at Horton, knew nothing of stern 
feelings afterwards called forth by controversy. But he 
refused to take holy orders in the Church of England, 
and (in 1637, when he wrote "Lycidas") he censured 
with severity the lives of some ordained ministers of that 
Church. 

In 1634 the masque of " Comus " was performed in the 
great hall of Ludlow Castle, the residence of John 
Egerton, Earl of Bridgewater, who had also a mansion 
and a park not far from Horton. For the entertainment 
of his family — two sons and eight daughters — "Comus" 
was written by Milton, and the music for the masque 
was supplied by his friend Henry Lawes. The story is 
simple. A lady, travelling with her two brothers, is 
parted from them and loses her way in a wood, where, 
for a time, she is detained by an evil enchanter called 
Comus. Her restoration to her brothers is ascribed to 



56 ENGLISH POETS. 

the care of a good genius, Thyrsis. When the masque 
was first performed, the heroine's part was taken by Lady 
Alice, the Earl's youngest daughter, and the two brothers 
were represented by the sons. Lord Brackley and Mr. 
Thomas Egerton. The composer of the music took the 
part of Thyrsis. " Comus" is the most beautiful of all the 
Poet's writings, and contains some parts that may be 
described as the quintessence of poetry. There are 
found also passages of declamation, directed against vice 
and having no reference to religious controversy. 

Low tones of controversial thunder are heard in the 
elegy, " Lycidas," written on the death of Edward King, 
a fellow of Christ Church and a candidate for holy orders. 
When about twenty-five years old, he left England and 
went to spend the long vacation in Ireland. In calm 
weather and near the coast of Wales the ship in which 
he sailed struck on a rock, and all on board perished. 
The elegy, blending pastoral scenes with religious 
thoughts, contains fine poetry and one satiric passage. 
Milton describes the deceased as a faithful shepherd too 
soon called away, and leaving the sheep to be neglected 
by false pastors, who "grate out lean and flashy songs 
from scrannel pipes of wretched straw." In this style the 
Poet describes some sermons preached in his time. The 
words are noticeable, as containing an early indication 
of principles afterwards asserted in controversial prose 
writings. 

Soon after the publication of the elegy, Milton left 



MILTON. 57 

England, and, in the course of about fifteen months, 
visited Paris, Florence, Rome, Naples, and Venice. In 
the neighbourhood of Florence, he paid a visit to the 
astronomer Galileo, who, at that time, was old and 
blind. At Naples the traveller was introduced to Manso, 
Marquis of Villa, who had been the friend of Tasso, and 
wrote his biography. At Rome three Latin epigrams 
were written by the traveller, to express his admiration 
of a vocalist — Leonora Baroni — whose singing he ascribed 
to divine inspiration. In 1639 he returned to England, 
here (as he said afterwards), " to take the trumpet and 
blow a dolorous or jarring blast ;" in other words, to 
take a part in the great controversy of the time. 

After his return to London he hired part of a house in 
St. Bride's Churchyard, but soon found a quieter abode 
in Aldersgate Street, where he employed his time in 
teaching two nephews, and in prosecuting his own 
studies. All previous exercises in poetry were viewed 
as preparations for the task of writing some great poem ; 
perhaps an epic on " King Arthur," or a drama on 
" Paradise Lost." 

Instead of a great poem, there came forth, in 1642, 
from the study in Aldersgate Street, a pamphlet on 
" Church Government." This transition from poetry 
to controversy seems like a sudden desolation pass- 
ing over a fine landscape. Instead of green slopes 
and wooded banks of rivers, there appear bare rocks, 
withered trees, and fields devastated by hail-storms. 
I 



58 ENGLISH POETS. 

The Poet, having promised that he would sing of " King 
Arthur," is soon afterwards heard blowing " a dolorous 
blast" on a trumpet. His change of purpose must be 
ascribed to the general movement of the age. Men who, 
in other times, might have quietly employed their several 
gifts, felt themselves compelled to take some part or 
other in a great controversy. Whatever various forms 
the dispute might assume, its substance was an assertion 
of freedom, in opposition to traditional claims of author- 
ity. About ninety years before the second Stuart 
reigned in England, supreme authority over the Church 
had been claimed by the throne, and it was never in- 
tended that this should be followed by any extension of 
freedom. But the notion of submission to one absolute 
power had been long associated with the claims of one 
dominant Church, and when that Church had been over- 
thrown there arose, in Elizabeth's reign, the question : 
" To whom shall the obedience once claimed by Rome 
be yielded .'' " " To the Prelacy, as supported by Royal 
authority," was the reply given by men called High 
Churchmen. But in England, as in Scotland, the power- 
ful party of Presbyterians rejected, at once. Episcopal 
Church government and the claims of Royal supremacy. 
At the same time they would not proceed so far as to 
grant to every man complete religious freedom. This 
had been claimed, in Elizabeth's reign, by men whose 
followers were, in Milton's time, called Independents, 
and of their principles he was the champion. With them 



MILTON. 59 

he maintained that every man must be left free in the 
interpretation of the Bible, and that every congregation 
of free Christian men must be independent. In their 
contest with Prelacy he gave aid to the Presbyterians ; 
but, when they would grant no freedom beyond the pale 
of their own Church, he declared himself an Independ- 
ent, and said, — 

" New Presbyter is but Old Priest, writ large." 

In a word, Milton was a thorough-going man in the 
assertion of principles held by the Independents, though 
he had no liking for some of their peculiar traits, their 
scorn of culture, and their austere manners. 

While the demands of Presbyterians and Independents 
were growing more and more urgent, the Stuart kings, 
James I. and his son, still maintained their assertion of 
Royal supremacy. That subjects could not be free 
unless they had a share in the government— this notion, 
accepted afterwards as an axiom, was so new and strange 
for Charles I., that it was never clearly understood by 
him. Defeated by an idea of which he could not esti- 
mate the power, he made a declaration of innocence 
with respect to charges preferred against him, and then 
placed his head upon the block. Soon after his death, a 
book entitled " The Royal Image," written by a chaplain 
named Gauden, was accepted as expressing the late 
king's own sentiments, and served to awaken a widely 
spread sympathy with his fate. In reply to that book 



6o ENGLISH POETS. 

Milton wrote one called " The Image-Breaker," which 
was published (by authority) in 1649. In the same 
year he w^as called upon by the Council of State to write 
a reply to a book written by a French scholar, Claude 
de Saumaise, who had condemned the act of the English 
regicides. As this book, written in Latin, was an appeal 
to the minds of educated men throughout Europe, 
Milton's reply, called " A Defence of the English Peo- 
ple," was also written in Latin. For more extended 
notices of Milton's controversial prose writings, reference 
is given to a biography, in which his public life is 
described in close connection with the history of his 
times.^ His private life, during the time of the great 
controversy, may be briefly noticed. 

In 1643, when the Poet was thirty-five years old, he 
formed (or renewed) an acquaintance with a Royalist 
family — the Powells, resident at Forest Hill, near Oxford 
— and married Mary Powell, who was only eighteen 
years old when she left home and came to London. 
The change was not agreeable, and, in the course of a 
few weeks, she longed to see again her relatives in 
Oxfordshire. Accordingly their invitation was readily 
accepted, and once more Mary found herself surrounded 
with rural scenes, and enjoying the cheerful society of 
her friends. This she apparently liked better than her 
husband's course of life, which one of his nephews called 

' "A Life of Milton," by David Masson. 3 vols. 1859-73. 



MILTON. 6i 

" philosophical." Some weeks of summer passed away, 
and her friends, perhaps incited by her own desire, made 
earnest suit by letter, that they might have her com- 
pany during the remainder of the season. Milton made 
some fruitless attempts to call back his young wife, and, 
when he despaired of success, he wrote a treatise, main- 
taining that uncongeniality ought to be considered a suffi- 
cient reason for divorce. To some opponents of his 
thesis he replied in a book called " Tetrachordon," and, 
when detraction followed its publication, he wrote two 
polemical sonnets. The first is playful, as these lines 
may show : — 

" Cries the stall-reader : ' Bless us ! what a word on 
A title-page is this ! ' And some, in file. 
Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile- 
End Green." 

But the second sonnet begins with these severe lines: — 

" I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs, 
By the known rules of ancient liberty. 
When straight a barbarous noise environs me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs." 

These expressions of anger were excited by contro- 
versy. A far higher strain of writing is found in an 
eloquent discourse, published in 1644, and called, " Areo- 
pagitica." This plea for the freedom of the press is 
generally accepted as the finest specimen of the author's 
prose writing. 

In 1645 the Royalists suffered their great defeat at 



62 ENGLISH POETS. 

Naseby, and the family of the Powells were, soon after- 
wards, placed in adverse circumstances. About this 
time, Milton went one day to pay a visit to a friend 
living near St. ]\Iartin's-le-Grand, and was there surprised 
when his wife suddenly came in and prayed for forgive- 
ness. It was immediately granted, and she returned to 
share once more his " philosophical life " in Aldersgate 
Street. Assisted by his brother (who was a Royalist and 
a lawyer), Milton gave such aid to the Powell family 
that they were once more placed in a good position. 
His wife did not again leave him. They had two 
daughters, when he was appointed, in 1649, foreign 
secretary to the Council of State, and went to live near 
Spring Gardens, Charing Cross. Thence he soon re- 
moved to 19, York Street, Westminster, and here his 
wife, after giving birth to a third daughter (Deborah), 
died in May, 1652. Two years later, he was afflicted 
with total blindness. No disfigurement appeared in the 
organs of sight ; but the power of vision, too long 
strained by arduous studies, was lost for ever. In a 
dramatic poem (written at a later time) he thus gave 
expression to his own sense of privation : — 

" O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 
Irrecoverably dark. Total eclipse, 
Without all hope of day ! " 

Left blind, and with three daughters dependent on 
his care, Milton, four years after the decease of his first 
wife, married Catherine, daughter of Captain Woodcock, 



MIL TON. 63 

of Hackney ; but hardly more than a year had passed 
away, when he was again left a widower. It is of this 
second bereavement that he speaks in a beautiful sonnet, 
which was suggested by a dream : — 

" My late espoused saint 
« * * * * 

Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind ; 
Her face was veil'd ; yet to my fancied sight 
Love, sweetness, goodness in her person shined 
So clear, as in no face with more delight. 
But O ! as to embrace me she inclined, 
I waked ; she fled j and day brought back my night." 

In 1657 Milton's salary was reduced to half its 
former amount, because his work was partly done by 
an assistant, who was paid by the Government. In 
the following year Cromwell died. His foreign secre- 
tary, who had retired into private life, was arrested and 
imprisoned in 1660; but was soon released, and lived 
for a short time in Jewin Street. Thence he removed to 
a small house in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, where 
he passed the remainder of his days. His quiet domestic 
habits are described in notices left by his youngest 
daughter, and by friends who often visited him. He 
was strictly temperate, rose early in summer and winter, 
and dined at one. In the morning he dictated, or 
listened while some friend read to him, and, when the 
reader could not understand a passage, the Poet would 
soon make it clear. These studies were varied by play- 
ing sometimes on a small organ, placed behind a curtain 



64 ENGLISH POETS. 

of faded green cloth. When he could not walk out, he 
took exercise in a swing fixed in his room. His evenings 
were often given to friendly visitors, in whose society he 
was generally cheerful, and took the leading part in 
conversation. After an early supper he smoked a pipe, 
and went to bed at nine. 

In 1663, about seven years after the decease of his 
second wife, Milton married a third, Elizabeth Minshull, 
who was twenty-four years old. The change thus made 
in their domestic circumstances was by no means wel- 
come to the three daughters. Two years later, when 
fear of plague prevailed in London, the Poet found a 
rural place of retreat at Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire, 
and there, before the close of the year 1665, his epic 
poem, " Paradise Lost," was completed. 

The production of this work by a blind man more than 
fifty years old, who had spent in controversial prose 
writing almost twenty years, is one of the wonders of 
literature. In 1667 the poem was published in a small 
quarto volume, sold for three shillings. " Paradise Re- 
gained" and the drama " Samson Agonistes " were pub- 
lished together in 167 1, and three years later the 
second edition of " Paradise Lost" appeared. When the 
greater part of the first edition was sold, the Poet received 
from his publisher (Samuel Simmons) five pounds, and 
another five pounds was paid after the appearance of a 
second edition. For " Paradise Lost " the author re- 
ceived only ten pounds, but retained an interest in the 



MIL TON. 6s 

copyright. Thus rewarded by the world, John Milton 
died, aged sixty-six, on Sunday, the eighth of November, 
1674. 

Four years after his death, his widow received eight 
pounds as full payment for her remaining interest in the 
copyright of " Paradise Lost." She inherited a fortune of 
one thousand pounds, out of which she gave one hundred 
pounds to each of Milton's three daughters. Anne, the 
oldest, married an architect, and soon afterwards died. 
The second (Mary) remained single. Deborah, who 
married a weaver (Mr. Clarke, of Spitalfields), was the 
mother of ten children. 

The fame of" Paradise Lost" w^as not rapidly spread. 
Its theme had attractions for readers who were religious 
men, and this partly accounts for the sale of thirteen 
hundred copies in two years. But hardly more than 
three thousand copies were sold in the eleven years 
following its first publication, though in that time such 
poems as were written by Flatman, Waller, and Norris 
found many admirers. Addison gave, in the " Spec- 
tator," a series of papers serving to call attention to the 
epic, and its reputation was increased when a fine edition 
was published under the patronage of Lord Somers. Li 
Germany translations from Milton led, in the eighteenth 
century, to a revival of poetical literature. 

Of all traits in Milton's poetry the most obvious is 
afifluence of imagery. Before his sight was lost, the Poet, 
in the time spent at Horton and in the course of his 
K 



66 ENGLISH POETS. 

travels, collected and stored in a capacious memory his 
wealth of impressions derived from nature, and to these 
were added grand conceptions of supernatural agents, 
and of a universe inclosing heaven, hell, chaos, and the 
earth. For these latter notions he was partly indebted 
to the old theory of astronomy. Galileo had already 
spread a new theory of the earth's revolutions, but this 
was not accepted by Milton. It was based on mathe- 
matical evidence, but could supply to the Poet's imagin- 
ation nothing better than a series of monotonous gyra- 
tions in infinite space, and he was therefore — with respect 
to imaginative freedom — a winner by his want of science. 
For him the earth was fixed. Above was heaven, or the 
empyrean, made glorious by light shining forth from the 
immediate presence of God. Far below, and separated 
from earth by immeasurable tracts of chaos, lay hell, 
with enormous gates guarded by the monstrous forms of 
Sin and Death. Within were drear regions of extreme 
heat and cold, here lighted by flames, there overspread 
with twilight, or " darkness visible." Such was the 
gigantic scenery of the Poet's world. Of all the agents 
introduced, Satan is made the most prominent. The 
description of his character and the narration of his expul- 
sion from heaven are so impressive, that they have been 
received, by many readers, as passages well founded on 
the authority of the Bible. It would be hard, indeed, to 
tell when and by whom the outline of Satan's character 
was first drawn. Its rudiments are certainly found in 
poems ascribed to a monk — Csedmon, who lived at 



MILTON. 67 

Wliitby in the seventh century — and there can hardly 
exist a doubt that Milton had read those poems, or knew 
something of them, for they were edited by Francis 
Junius, who was one of the Poet's friends. Like Milton, 
" The Monk of Whitby " made " pride " the source of 
evil, and it is noticeable that several mystic writers, who 
never heard of Caedmon, used words like his own, when 
they wrote on the same mysterious subject. The crea- 
tion of Satan's character cannot, with respect to its 
rudiments, be fairly ascribed to Milton ; but to him be- 
longs all the grandeur of representation found in many 
passages, of which the following is an example : — 

. . . " As when the sun, new risen, 
Looks through the horizontal, misty air, 
Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon, 
In dim echpse, disastrous twihght sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs — darken'd so, yet shone 
Above them all the Archangel ; but his face 
Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, and care 
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows 
Of dauntless courage and considerate pride, 
Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast 
Signs of remorse and passion, to behold 
The fellows of his crime— the followers rather- 
Far other once beheld in bliss, condemn'd 
For ever now to have their lot in pain. 

He now prepared 
To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
From wing to wing, and half enclose him round, 
With all his peers. Attention held them mute. 
Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn. 
Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth." 



68 ENGLISH POETS. 

After descriptions of events taking place in hell and 
in chaos, the transition to scenes in Paradise is well intro- 
duced by an invocation addressed to Light. This pas- 
sage includes, with reference to loss of sight, an expression 
of the writer's own feelings : — 

" Hail, holy Light ! offspring of heaven, first-born ; 

Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam, 

May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light. 

And never but in unapproached light 

Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee. 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! 

But thou 

Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veil'd." 

Readers who would notice how the Poet's language 
becomes energetic or melodious, in concert with his 
themes, may turn from the sixth book, telling of war- 
fare in heaven, to passages describing morning and 
evening in Paradise. Thus the Poet tells how warfare 
in heaven was brought to a close : — 

" So spake the Son, and into terror changed 
His countenance, too severe to be beheld, 
And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 

Full soon 

Among them he arrived, in his right hand 
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
Before him, such as in their souls infix'd 
Plagues ; they, astonish'd, all resistance lost, 
All courage ; down their idle weapons dropp'd. 



MILTON. 69 

O'er shields and helms and helmed heads he rode 
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrdte, 
That wish'd the mountains now might be again 
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire." 

The music of Milton's verse is not a psalm tune, but a 
fugue of ever-varying modulations. Its more harmonious 
tones are heard in such lines as the following, taken from 
the Morning Hymn chanted by Adam and Eve in Para- 
dise : — 

" His praise ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 

Breathe soft or loud ! and wave your tops, ye pines ! 

With every plant, in sign of worship wave. 

Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 

Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise ! 

Join voices, all ye living souls ! Ye birds 

That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend, 

Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. 

Ye that in waters ghde, and ye that walk 

The earth and stately tread, or lowly creep, 

Witness, if I be silent, morn or even, 

To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, 

Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise." 

" Paradise Regained " has been cast into the shade by 
the Poet's greater epic, but contains some beautiful 
passages and others marked by great energy of expres- 
sion. The story of a stormy night, as given in the fourth 
book, is enough to show that Milton's imagination was 
not waning when he wrote his second epic ; but its quiet, 
general tone accords well with a tradition respecting 
its origin. Among friends whom Milton sometimes 
employed as readers, one named EUwood was a Quaker. 



70 ENGLISH POETS. 

He read with pleasure the first epic, and then, address- 
ing the author, said : " What hast thou to say of ' Para- 
dise Found?'" The Poet at the time gave no answer. 
Afterwards, when the plague was stayed in London, and 
Milton had returned from Chalfont to his home, the 
Quaker paid him another visit, and found that he had 
completed a second epic. He showed the copy to 
Ellwood, and said : '* This is owing to you, for you put 
it into my head by the question you put to me at 
Chalfont." 

" Samson Agonistes " is, in form, a dramatic poem, 
but is essentially lyrical, and sei-ves partly to express 
the writer's personal feelings at a time when men of his 
own party were as powerless as the blind hero Samson, 
a prisoner at Gaza. Some passages of declamation 
against " Philistines " were, in fact, aimed at gay cour- 
tiers in the time when Charles the Second was reigning. 

Milton's poetical works, though contained in one small 
volume, include fine traits too numerous to be named 
in this short essay. His learning, animated by genius, 
could blend poetic feeling with a list of names, as may 
be seen in the first book of " Paradise Lost," where he 
musters a host of fallen angels, and gives to each of their 
chieftains " a local habitation," as well as a name. The 
theology partly implied in Milton's poems, and main- 
tained in one of his prose writings, is Arian. His phi- 
losophy may be generally described as Platonic. The 
apparent materialism of the sixth book in the first epic 



MILTON. 71 

is merely imaginative, as the author tells us in these 

lines : — 

..." What surmounts the reach 
Of human sense, I shall deUneate so, 
By likening spiritual te corporal forms, 
As may express them best." 

Milton's theory of the permission of evil is implied in 
one word, for he maintains that angels (like man), when 
created, were endowed with freedom. In the first epic, 
Adam, yielding willingly to one temptation, falls and 
loses Paradise; in the second. One, firmly standing 
opposed to a long seriesof temptations, regains Paradise, 
not for himself alone, but for all his followers. On such 
themes as were treated by Milton, in prose and verse, the 
creeds and opinions of men widely differ ; but he is still 
honoured by men of several parties, because they know 
he was sincere and independent. His treatment of the 
Presbyterians, when they had power, was nobly con- 
sistent with his own principles. His lofty spirit of 
independence made him deserving of praise bestowed 
by a poet, who was a churchman and a conservative. 
To Milton that later poet addressed the line, 

" Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart." 

This essay must not conclude without some reference 
to the Poet's sonnets. These are not to be classed with 
easily composed little poems, each containing fourteen 
lines and therefore falsely called "sonnets." Milton's 
sonnets, though truly constructed in accordance with old 



72 ENGLISH POETS. 

Italian rules, have both freedom and variety of expres- 
sion. One, beginning with the words, "Avenge, O Lord ! 
thy slaughtered saints," still remains unrivalled for 
energy. Another, addressed "to the Nightingale," 
might be quoted, to show how melodiously words may 
be made to flow in a very difficult form of composition ; 
but surely every lover of poetry knows by heart that 
sonnet. Milton, like his father, was a lover of music. 
His first epic contains many references to choral har- 
mony, and the second closes with "heavenly anthems," 
sung by " angelic choirs." He grants even to inmates 
of Pandemonium some relief in strains of pensive 
melody, and the evil genius, "Comus," thus describes 
the effect of a beautiful song : — 

. . . " I was all ear, 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of death." 

A more complete expression of the Poet's intense love 
of harmony is given in the following lines, written after 
hearing " solemn music " : — 

" Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of heaven's joy, 

Sphere-born, harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse ! 

Wed your divine sounds and mix'd power employ, 

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce, 

And to our high-raised phantasy present 

That undisturbed song of pure concent, 

Aye sung, before the sapphire-colour'd throne, 

To Him that sits thereon, 

"With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 

Where the bright seraphim, in burning row, 



MIL TON. 73 

Their loud, uplifted angel-trumpets blow, 

And the cherubic host, in thousand choirs, 

Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 

With those just spirits that wear victorious palms. 

Hymns devout and holy psalms 

Singing everlastingly ; 

That we, on earth, with undiscording voice, 

May rightly answer that melodious noise, 

As once we did, till disproportioned sin 

Jarred against nature's chime and, with harsh din. 

Broke the fair music that all creatures made 

To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed 

In perfect diapason, while they stood 

In first obedience and their state of good. 

* « * * « 

O, may we soon again renew that song. 
And keep in tune with heaven ! till God, ere long. 
To His celestial concert us unite, 
To live with Him, and sing, in endless morn of light ! " 



M 




*». 







~3m 



^ 




ADDISON. 




HE poetry of the Elizabethan time may be 
compared to a region lately disforested. 
Signs of cultivation are everywhere mingled 
with vestiges of native rudeness, and no- 
where is found such trim culture as belongs to a small 
park or a garden. The poetry of " The Augustan age " 
may be rather compared to the scenery of a small park. 
All sights and sounds belonging to a ruder world are 
here excluded, and of roads leading to towns hardly a 
trace is visible. Gray smoke, rising over orchards, shows 
that a hamlet is near; but the huts where poor men dwell 
are not seen. A smooth lawn slopes down to the park, 
and, beyond the south boundary, nothing is seen save 
the ridge of a distant blue hill. Such placid scenery 
may represent some traits of poetical literature in the 
time to which the writings of Addison belong. Com- 
pared with the poetry of Shakespeare's time, the lite- 
rature mostly admired during the reigns of King William 



76 ENGLISH POETS. 

III. and Queen Anne may be called narrow or exclusive; 
but it was by no means destitute of natural elegance and 
beauty. 

Joseph Addison, son of Lancelot Addison, Dean of 
Lichfield, was born at Milston (Wilts), on the 1st of 
May, 1672. After some preparatory training at Lich- 
field, he went to the Charterhouse, where Richard Steele 
(born in 1672) was his schoolfellow and friend. They 
were again associated as students at Oxford, and, in 
later life, as writers in "The Tatler " and "The Spec- 
tator," so that it is almost impossible to think of Addi- 
son apart from his faithful friend Richard Steele, 

At Oxford Addison wrote Latin and Enghsh verses, 
translated the greater part of Virgil's fourth " Georgic," 
and published, in Dryden's "Miscellany" (1694), some 
lines noticeable as indicating the literary taste of the age. 
\\\ these lines the young author, giving as he says "an 
account of the greatest English poets," speaks without 
any great respect of Chaucer, says nothing of Shake- 
speare, and thus describes the poetry of Spenser : — 

" Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage, 
In ancient tales amused a barbarous age ; 
An age that, yet uncultivate and rude, 
Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued 
Through pathless fields and unfrequented floods, 
To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. 
But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, 
Can charm an understanding age no more ; 
The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, 
While the dull moral lies too plain below." 



ADDISON. 77 

When these hues were written, Shakespeare's name 
was by no means dominant Dryden, the greatest of 
all writers then living, was old, and such men as Garth, 
Blackmore, and Pomfret were called poets. The so-called 
" Augustan Age," or Queen Anne's reign (1702-14), was 
introduced by a rather dreary time when there was 
found, among the younger men, no better poet than 
Prior. During that interval, literary men were mostly 
dependent on aid bestowed by such patrons as the Earl 
of Dorset, Lord Somers, and Charles Montague, after- 
wards made Lord Halifax. 

Addison, who had intended to take holy orders in the 
Church of England, was soon diverted from that course 
by hopes of secular promotion. When twenty-three 
years old, he addressed to King William some verses on 
the " Capture of Namur," and these were soon followed 
by a Latin poem on the "Peace of Ryswick," which was 
sent to Charles Montague, and gained his patronage. 
Through his recommendation, the author received a 
pension of ^300, which enabled him to make a tour in 
Europe. In France he stayed some time to learn the 
language of the nation then dominant in literature, and 
wrote letters pleasantly describing the manners of the 
people, as in the following passage : — 

" They are the happiest nation in the world. 'Tis not in the 
power of want or slavery to make 'em miserable. There is nothing 
to be met with in the country but mirth and poverty. Every one 
sings, laughs, and starves. Their conversation is generally agree- 



78 ENGLISH POETS. 

able ; for, if they have any wit or sense, they are sure to show it. 
They never mend upon a second meeting, but use all the freedom 
and familiarity at first sight that a long intimacy or abundance of 
wine can scarce draw from an Englishman." 

The last sentence has an unconscious allusion to the 
writer's own reserve. No enthusiasm was kindled when 
he crossed the Alps. He tells us only that it was a 
troublesome journey, that made his head giddy, and that 
he felt delight when once more he saw level ground. 
His thankfulness for escape from a storm in the Gulf of 
Genoa was subsequently expressed in one of his hymns. 
There was no peculiarity in his indifference respecting 
Alpine views. Other travellers of his time might have 
expressed the same feeling. Among the poets of the 
eighteenth century. Gray was the first who spoke of 
nature in tones harmonizing with Wordsworth's enthu- 
siasm. From Italy the traveller sent to his friend. Lord 
Halifax, a versified " letter," in which laudation of the 
Italian climate led to higher praise of English liberty : — 

" 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle 

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile." 

Some passages in this " Letter from Italy " may re- 
mind a reader of a finer poem, Goldsmith's " Traveller." 
In 1702, when Addison hoped to obtain some diplomatic 
appointment, a change of government deprived him of 
his pension. In Italy he had collected materials for his 
" Dialogues on the Uses of Ancient Medals," of which 
he had written the outlines when he visited Vienna in 



ADDISON. 79 

1/02. In the following summer he went to Hamburg, 
and in the autumn returned to London, where, for some 
time, he hired apartments in the Haymarket. There he 
was soon found by his energetic friend Steele, who had 
made himself captain of a regiment of Fusileers, had 
written a book called " The Christian Hero," and was 
employed in writing a comedy. He proposed that 
Addison, whose income was small, should give assistance 
in writing some work that should serve as a monument 
of their friendship ; but this was not carried into effect 
until 1709, when "The Tatler" appeared. Meanwhile 
Lord Halifax gained for Addison a place in the Excise. 
The Poet's second time of prosperity began in 1704, 
when London was full of rejoicing for a great victory, 
and he wrote soon afterwards his poem called " The 
Campaign," The following passage, referring to Marl- 
borough's generalship and to a recent storm, was greatly 
admired : — 

" Great Marlbro's mighty soul 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage. 
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage : 
So, when an angel, by divine command, 
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land- 
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed — 
Calm and serene, he drives the furious blast, 
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform. 
Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." 

In 1706, when Addison was made Under-Secretary of 
State, he produced an opera, " Rosamond," so contrived 



8o ENGLISH POETS. 

that it might be accepted as another compliment paid to 
the great general. About this time and afterwards, the 
Poet partly employed his leisure in giving lessons to a 
boy, ten years old, son of the Countess-Dowager of 
Warwick, His introduction to her family subsequently 
led the tutor to cherish thoughts by which his peace of 
mind was disturbed. He was returned, in 1708, member 
of Parliament for Malmesbury, but had no success in 
the House. He had neither the nerve and readiness of 
a good debater, nor the volubility, vox ct prcsterea nihil, 
of a commonplace orator. He was in fact a silent 
member. Meanwhile his friend Steele, whose author- 
ship always had some reference to practical life, had 
been thinking of starting a journal, and in 1709 he 
brought out " The Tatler," to which Addison was a 
contributor. The two fellow-workers were alike in their 
good purpose ; but Steele was impatient of restraint, 
and wrote against the minister Harley. The result was 
that, in 171 1, "The Tatler" came to an end ; but it was 
soon followed by the appearance of another journal, 
" The Spectator," which did not meddle with political 
affairs. In this periodical Steele pleaded earnestly for 
the best interests of society, while his friend treated both 
ethics and minor morals in his own graceful style, blend- 
ing purity of sentiment with refined humour. Their 
didactic writing was relieved by the introduction of 
several imaginary characters, whose various traits were 
represented w^ith some dramatic skill. Of all these cha- 



ADDISON. 8 1 

racters the most complete and life-like, " Sir Roger de 
Coverley," was mainly created by Addison. It was, in 
fact, his greatest success ; but this was by no means 
believed in 17 13, when his tragedy " Cato " appeared. 
All things conspired to make complete the success of 
the drama. It was well studied, correctly written, and 
in tone was accordant with the time when Whigs and 
Tories were alike professionally "patriotic." Pope, a 
young poet, whose reputation was already established, 
wrote the prologue. Bolingbroke pretended to like the 
play, though it was admired by his own political foes 
Last, not least, the author gave the profits of perform- 
ance to the players, so that they acted with all the zeal 
of self-love. One fierce critic, John Dennis, was bold 
enough to attack "Cato;" but he was soon severely 
treated, not by Addison, but by a young poet who had his 
own private reasons for disliking Dennis. With grave 
and audacious humour. Pope replied by publishing " an 
Account of the Frenzy of J. D.," and ascribed the author- 
ship of the tract to a Dr. Norris, noted for his skill in 
the management of insane patients. Though the blow 
seemed aimed in defence of his own play, Addison liked 
not Pope's choice of a weapon, and would not in any 
way sanction the publication. At that time he could 
not dream that his own character would, some day, be 
attacked by the satirist. 

Richard Steele, in 1713, started another journal, "The 
Guardian," as a successor to " The Spectator ; " but the 
M 



82 ENGLISH POETS. 

new adventure came to an end before the close of the 
year. He was soon afterwards actively engaged in politics ; 
was returned member for Stockbridge, and spent or gave 
freely his own money, with a considerable sum lent by 
Addison, who was at last compelled to remind his gene- 
rous friend that debts ought to be paid. This did not se- 
riously disturb their friendship. Ultimately Steele paid 
all his creditors. In 17 15 he was returned member 
for Boroughbridge, received the honour of knighthood, 
and was made Governor of Drury Lane Theatre. There 
he brought out a slight comedy written by Addison, and 
called " The Drummer," but, like the opera " Rosa- 
mond," the comedy proved a failure on the stage. In 
the principal scene a so-called " atheist " is haunted, as 
he imagines, by the ghost of a drummer, and is soon 
frightened into some sort of belief. 

In the following year (17 16) Addison was accepted as 
her husband by the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, and 
went to live at Holland House, Kensington. So far his 
life, as compared with the lives of many scholars and 
poets, had been prosperous ; but he had dreamed some- 
times that he might be happier. The dream was not 
fulfilled when he married. Soon afterwards he was ap- 
pointed colleague of Lord Sunderland, Secretary of 
State ; but failing health led to Addison's retirement 
from office in 17 18, and he died on the seventeenth of 
June in the following year. His friend Richard Steele 
died in 1729. 



ADDISON. 83 

The true character of Joseph Addison may be read in 
his works. In private Hfe his general tone was quiet 
and reserved ; he required some excitement to make him 
fluent in conversation, and.Avhile ready to praise his own 
intimate friends, he received with pleasure the praises be- 
stowed by them. He retained throughout his lifetime the 
friendship of Steele and Swift, and against this favourable 
evidence there is hardly anything to be adduced, save 
one remarkable passage in Pope's satirical writings. It 
cannot be forgotten ; for Pope never wrote satire more 
polished and elegant than the following lines : — 

" Were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires ; 
Blest with each talent and each art to please, 
And born to write, converse and live with ease : 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; 
Willing to woiind, and yet afraid to strike. 
Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike ; 
Alike reserved, to blame or to commend, 
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading even fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ; 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws. 
And sit attentive to his own applause ; 
While wits and Templars every sentence raise. 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be.' 
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he .'"' 



84 ENGLISH POETS. 

In Addison's defence some facts may here be named. 
When Pope's first work of great merit, the " Essay on 
Criticism," had appeared, it was highly commended by 
Addison, who called " The Rape of the Lock " (in its 
first form) an exquisite piece, and at a later time ex- 
pressed a belief that Pope's translation of Homer would 
rival Dryden's Virgil. It should be also noticed that, 
when the first four books of Pope's translation were pub- 
lished, there appeared almost simultaneously the first 
book of the " Iliad," translated by Addison's intimate 
friend, Tickell, who gracefully retired from apparent 
rivalry with Pope. But comparisons followed, of course, 
and Addison, talking with friends at a coffee-house, said 
both the translations were well done, but Tickell's was 
more like Homer. On the other side the facts seem 
weak. Tickell (who was supposed to represent his 
friend's opinions) preferred the pasto'-als written by 
Ambrose Philips to those written by Pope, " when he 
was sixteen years old." Addison, while praising " The 
Rape of the Lock," would not recommend the poet to 
extend that fine work of fancy. Such trifles seem in- 
sufficient to justify Pope's satirical sketch. If Addison 
failed to recognize fully Pope's genius, it should be re- 
membered that " The Dunciad," the " Imitations of 
Horace," "The Essay on Man," — all the latter poet's 
best ethical and satirical writings — appeared after the 
death of Addison. As Pope's severe lines have been 
given, it is fair to place in contrast with them other lines 



ADDISON. 85 

on the same subject. These are found in an elegy- 
written by Tickell, whose "highest honour," as he said, 
was that he had been Addison's friend : — 

" If pensive to the rural shades I rove, 
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove; 
'Twas there of just and good he reasoned strong, 
Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song ; 
There, patient, showed us the wise course to steer, 
A candid censor and a friend severe ; 
There taught us how to live ; and — oh ! too high 
The price for knowledge — taught us how to die." 

So much has been said in praise of Addison's style 
that hardly a word can be added. Johnson's well-known 
commendation is the more remarkable, as it implies 
censure of his own Latin-English, aptly called "John- 
sonese." With respect to graceful ease and art in 
which there seems to be no art, Oliver Goldsmith and 
Washington Irving might be called followers of Addison. 
But the temper of his writings is even more admirable 
than their style. He reproves with genial and sometimes 
playful kindness, and when he teaches never assumes 
the grave and dogmatic air of " Sir Oracle." His placid 
religion was naturally associated with hopeful views of 
human life, and might be called optimistic rather than 
comprehensive. Of such hard questions and obstinate 
doubts as have vexed greater and less harmonious 
minds, he perhaps knew but little. His firm belief in a 
Divine Providence is expressed in an essay, remarkable 
as containing ideas afterwards expanded by Pope, in one 



86 ENGLISH POETS. 

of his most eloquent passages ; though there is no reason 
for suspecting that the ideas were borrowed by the later 
writer. The passage (in the " Essay on Man ") begins 
with these well-known lines — 

" All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul." 

Addison's essay, entitled "The Works of Creation," 
begins with the following sentence : " I was yesterday 
about sunset walking in the open fields, until the night 
insensibly fell upon me." The whole of the essay may 
be noticed as a fair specimen of the author's more 
elevated prose-style. As a writer of hymns he, with 
pure taste, avoided the error of several earlier authors, 
whose pious verses were too often disfigured by the use 
of quaint or low expressions. Of his love of simple 
words an example may be given in a few stanzas, having 
reference to his own experience, at a time when he was 
exposed to the fury of a storm at sea : — 

" The storm was laid, the winds retired, 

Obedient to thy will ; 
The sea, that roared at thy command, 

At thy command was still. 

" In midst of dangers, fears and death, 

Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
I'll praise thee for thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

" My life, if thou preserv'st my life. 

Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
And death, if death must be my doom. 

Shall join my soul to thee. 



ADDISON. 87 

The prose-writings of Addison include — besides those 
already noticed— a critique on "Paradise Lost," a series 
of essays on "The Pleasures of Imagination," and a 
work on the " Evidences of Christianity." His prose 
contains more wealth of thought and illustration than 
can be found in all his verses. " Cato " is a correctly 
written tragedy, but is cold and almost destitute of 
dramatic life. On the other hand, "Sir Roger de 
Coverley " is a poem in prose, and surely must have 
been written by a poet who was, moreover, an amiable 
man. All the papers containing the portraiture of that 
" English Gentleman of the Olden Time " should be read 
consecutively; but a short quotation may here serve as one 
specimen of the author's quiet and genial humour : — 

" I am always well pleased w^ith a country Sunday, and think, if 
keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it 
would be the best method that could have been thought of for the 
polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country peo- 
ple would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, 
were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the 
whole village meet together with their best faces, and in their 
cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon different sub- 
jects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in 
adoration of the Supreme Being. 

" My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified 
the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing. He 
has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the com- 
munion-table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at 
his coming to his estate he found his parishioners very irregular : 
and that in order to make them kneel, and join in the responses, 
he gave every one of them a hassock and a Common Prayer Book ; 
and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who 



88 ENGLISH POETS. 

goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in 
the tunes of the Psalms, upon which they now very much value 
themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that I 
have ever heard. 

" As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps 
them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it be- 
sides himself ; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short 
nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks 
about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them 
himself, or sends his servants to them. Several other of the old 
knight's particularities break out upon these occasions. Sometimes 
he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing Psalms, half a 
minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it ; some- 
times, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pro- 
nounces Amen three or four times in the same prayer ; and some- 
times stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count 
the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing. 

" I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in 
the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind 
what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This John 
Matthews it seems is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at 
that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority 
of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompa- 
nies him in all the circumstances of life, has a very good effect upon 
the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in 
his behaviour ; besides that the general good sense and worthiness 
of his character make his friends observe these little singularities 
as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities." 





POPE. 

NECDOTES of poets and other authors 
have too often served as substitutes for 
studies of their writings. A great dramatic 
poet, hke Shakespeare, must have a mar- 
vellous power of concealing himself in the midst of the 
world he creates. But this does not contradict the 
general truth — that the character of a great and sincere 
poet will be found in his works taken as a whole. Ex- 
amples are indicated by the names, Horace, Burns, 
Wordsworth, Byron, and to these may be added Pope. 

It does not follow, because a man is a poet, that he 
can be nothing else. He may be a naturalist, or a 
moralist, or may forget poetry and lose himself in ab- 
stract theory. The development of imaginative genius 
may be a chief aim, or may be made subordinate to the 
culture of other faculties. A man born a poet may write 
books in which faithful description and clear logic, or wit 
N 



90 ENGLISH POETS. 

and humour, may be generally made more prominent 
than poetic imagination ; though this faculty may give 
life and power to the best passages. 

Pope was a poet ; but he mostly employed his talents 
in writing satires and moral essays. It was his boast — 

" That not in fancy's maze he wandered long, 
But stooped to truth, and moraUzed his song." 

In his later years, the rationalism of the time led him 
to write, in verse, on such themes as natural theology 
and optimism. His error was great, and he was himself 
half-conscious of it. But in his satires, moral essays, and 
reasonings about good and evil, Pope brightened didactic 
verse with the light of poetry. He installed himself as 
a professor of ethics and wrote lectures in verse ; but 
these lectures were, almost everywhere, irradiated with 
gleams of fancy and imagination. The professor of 
ethics could not conceal the fact, that he was a poet. 

Alexander Pope, whose parents were members of 
the Roman Catholic Church, was born in Lombard 
Street, London, on the 21st of May, 1688, Soon after 
that time, his father, who was a linen-draper, retired from 
business and went to live at Binfield, near Windsor Forest. 
There young Pope received some instruction from a priest, 
and then went to a school at Twyford ; but for his higher 
education he was mainly indebted to the kindness of 
his parents, who allowed him to select his own studies. 
In him Nature united poetic genius and a clear intellect 



POPE. 91 

with a physical constitution so frail that he called his 
life "a long disease." As he tells us, " he lisped in num- 
bers," wrote verses when he was twelve years old, and 
about that time was introduced to the old poet, Dryden, 
who, still retaining his marvellous powers, was near the 
close of his career. Studies of Dryden's " Fables " and 
Chaucer's " Tales " led the young poet to write some 
free imitations, and he read Milton's early poems, Eng- 
lish and Latin, of which traces are found in four 
" Pastorals " written by Pope at the age of sixteen, but 
afterwards revised, and first published in 1709. Recol- 
lections of rural life at Binfield supplied imagery for the 
best passages of " Windsor Forest," first published in 
1713. Here and there are found, among more ambitious 
verses, some lines of truthful description, such as these : — 

" There, interspersed in lawns and opening glades, 
Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades. 
Here in full light the russet plains extend, 
There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills ascend. 
E'en the wild heath displays her purple dyes." 

Before Pope had attained the age of twenty-three, his 
intellect had assumed predominance over sentiment and 
imagination. This may be seen in the " Essay on Criti- 
cism," which first appeared in 171 1, when it was highly 
commended by Addison. In this work the author, partly 
following the great critic, Boileau, turned his attention 
away from nature and life, and began to write about 
rules for writing. The following lines, giving apposite 



92 ENGLISH POETS. 

examples of bad versification, were admired at the time 
when the " Essay " was pubHshed : — 

" In the bright muse though thousand charms conspire, 

Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire, 

Who haunt Parnassus but to please the ear, 

Not mend their minds ; as some to church repair, 

Not for the doctrine, but the music there. 

These equal syllables alone require. 

Though oft the ear the open vowels tire, 

While feeble expletives their aid do join, 

Ami ten low words oft creep in one dull line" 

When the " Essay " had been praised in the " Spec- 
tator," the writer contributed to that journal a poem 
called "The Messiah," remarkable as a specimen of 
ornate diction and smooth verse. The thoughts and the 
imagery are (with full acknowledgment) borrowed from 
Isaiah and Virgil. Again the young author displayed 
versatility when, soon after the appearance of " The 
Messiah," he published a first sketch of his " Rape of the 
Lock." This also was praised by Addison, who thought 
it so good that it could hardly be mended. But the 
poet was pleased with the subject, and, soon afterwards, 
greatly extended his work by the introduction of sylphs, 
gnomes, and nymphs, such as are found in the Entretiens 
dii Cointe de Gabalis, an odd book, written by the French 
Abbe de Montfaucon de Villars. It seems clear that 
Pope had read that book. The real story of his mock- 
heroic poem is very simple. It tells us that a young lord 
clipped away, without asking for permission, a lock of 



POPE. 93 

hair from the head of a reigning beauty, and dire anger 
followed the transgression : — 

" Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, 
And screams of terror rend the affrighted skies. 
Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, 
When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their last ! 
Or when rich China vessels, fallen from high. 
In glittering dust and painted fragnients lie." 

The quarrel thus begun went on until two families, 
who had lived on friendly terms, were separated like 
Greeks and Trojans. The poet's aim is reconciliation, 
and good humour is the general tone of the poem. If to 
fancy we assign such combinations of ideas and images 
as have no basis in faith, reason, or deep feeling ; in 
other words, if fancy may be defined as the playful sister 
of imagination, then Pope's " Rape of the Lock " may 
be called the most brilliant of all works of fancy found 
in English literature. Its success, when published in 
its complete form in 17 14, was remarkable; though the 
publisher paid to the writer little more than twenty 
pounds. Another proof of versatility was soon given, 
when he published, at Chiswick, the volume of poems 
including the " Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard." This 
alone is enough to show that Pope was a poet in the 
higher sense of the word, and had full command of such 
language as only true passion can inspire. All the 
imagery of the poem is coloured by one sentiment. The 
convent with " relentless walls," the " darksome pines," 



94 



ENGLISH POETS. 



the grief that "shades every flower" and "darkens every 

scene," 

" Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, 
And breathes a browner horror on the woods " 

— all are well blended, like faint lights, dim colours, and 
dark shadows in an old and mellow painting ; and surely 
there is pathos in such lines as these : — 

" In sacred vestments mayst thou stand, 
The hallowed taper trembling in thy hand ; 
Present the cross before my lifted eye, 
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. 
Ah, then thy once-loved Eloisa see ! 
It will be then no crime to gaze on me. 
See from my cheek the transient roses fly ! 
See the last sparkle languish in my eye ! 
Till every motion, pulse and breath be o'er, 
And even my Abelard be loved no more." 

One of the smaller poems, given in the volume pub- 
lished at Chiswick, where Pope was living in 17 16, re- 
minds us of the author's own source of sorrow. The 
poem is addressed to his friend, Martha Blount, a lady 
belonging to a Roman Catholic family living near Read- 
ing. Their early friendship never died away, and did 
not lead to marriage. The cause of their separation 
is clearly enough indicated in several letters having 
reference to the writer's frail health ; or rather to that 
" long disease," his life. Writing verses was for Pope an 
anodyne medicine, and satire diverted his attention from 
his own physical miseries. To these he refers in the 
following reproof of flattery : — 



POrE. 95 

" There are who to my person pay their court : 
I cough hke Horace, and though lean, am short. 
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high ; 
' Such Ovid's nose ! ' and, ' Sir, you have an eye ! ' — 
Go on, obliging creatures ! make me see 
All that disgraced my betters met in me. 
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, 
'Just so immortal Maro held his head ! ' " 

The discontent naturally attending ill-health was but 
one of the motives by which Pope was urged to write 
satire. When twenty-three years old, he had won re- 
putation, but had gained no substantial reward. All 
the money he had earned by writing poetry was hardly 
worth notice. He was excluded by his creed from some 
rewards given to men whose claims were inferior, and was 
left mostly dependent on his father, who died suddenly in 
1 7 17. A note written by the poet at that time contains 
these words, addressed to his friend, Martha Blount : 
" My poor father died last night. Believe, since I don't 
forget you now, I never shall." 

Though Pope inherited but a small patrimony, his 
father's decease did not leave him in poverty. Some 
time before that event, he had issued a proposal for pub- 
lishing, by subscription, a new translation of Homer, and 
in this undertaking he was generously supported by 
patrons of literature. So far were his circumstances 
thus improved, that he took at Twickenham a long lease 
of a house with five acres of land, and afterAvards lived 
there with his mother, whom he cherished with filial 



96 ENGLISH POETS. 

piety during the remainder of her Hfe. At his villa on 
the Thames, he bestowed on landscape-gardening, in 
miniature, as much care as he sometimes expended in 
polishing verses. Here he planted his willow, made a 
grotto, through which a rill of clear water flowed, and 
planned a sloping " arcade of trees," through which 
might be seen " sails on the river, passing suddenly and 
vanishing." Near the grotto were constructed two 
porches ; one " full of light and open," the other 
" shadowed with trees and rough with shells, flints, and 
iron-ores." 

The transition from Binfield and Chiswick to a villa 
on the Thames seems marvellous, and the wonder is not 
lessened when we are told that Pope gained i^5,ooo by 
translating Homer's " Iliad." The first volume appeared 
in 17 1 5, and the work was completed in 1720. The task 
of the translator would have been very arduous if he had 
endeavoured to unite with his own polished versification 
the antique tone and simple truthfulness of Homer ; but 
such a union was never meditated. Pope made Homer 
talk elegantly, in the style mostly admired by English 
readers of the time, and great success rewarded the enter- 
prise, which was soon followed by a translation of the 
" Odyssey." In this work Pope was assisted by two 
literary men — Broome and Fenton — who could so far 
imitate his own style that their work, when revised and 
polished by himself, was at least respectable. Pope did 
half the work ; a third part of it was executed by 



POPE. 97 

Broome, and the remainder— one sixth — was done by 
Fenton. The profits of the translation amounted to 
;^4,20O, and were thus distributed : Pope took five-sixths, 
Broome had one-eighth, and the remaining small sum 
was accepted as the payment due to Fenton. Poets may 
therefore boast that their number includes, at least, one 
man who was a good financial politician. At the same 
time it should be noticed that the success of the 
" Odyssey " was fairly ascribed to Pope's former success 
in translating the " Iliad." In the course of ten years 
(1715-25) he earned more than eight thousand pounds 
by work that, for him, was comparatively light, and 
afforded leisure for recreation. While engaged in trans- 
lating " the Iliad," he lived for some time in rural 
quietude, at an old mansion — Stanton-Harcourt in 
Oxfordshire — of which he wrote a description, in prose, 
so pleasant that it reminds us of Addison and of Irving. 
The description, addressed to Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu, is thus concluded : — 

" I have found this an excellent place for retirement and study, 
where no one who passes by can dream there is an inhabitant. . . . 
You will not wonder, I have translated a great deal of Homer in 
this retreat ; any one that sees it will own I could not have chosen 
a fitter or more likely place to converse with the dead." 

The accomplished lady to whom Pope sent the ac- 
count of his "retreat," came, in 171 8, to live at Twicken- 
ham, and for some time was numbered with the poet's 
friends. A story is told imputing to Pope all the blame 
O 



98 ENGLISH POETS. 

for cessation of friendly relations. In connection with 
that story, one apparently contradictory fact should be 
noticed ; the poet's " long subdued and cherished " love 
of Martha Blount remained with him throughout his life. 
Of his letters addressed to this lady one, written in 171 6, 
tells us that he had recently paid a visit to Oxford. 
" There," he says, — 

" I lay in one of the most ancient, dusky parts of the University, 
and was as dead to the world as any hermit of the desert. If any- 
thing was alive or awake in me, it was a little vanity, such as even 
those good men used to entertain, when monks of their own order 
extolled their piety and abstraction." 

While partly engaged in translating the " Odyssey," 
Pope made some preparation for a new edition of Shake- 
speare, which appeared in 1725, and was remarkably un- 
successful. The editorial work was slightly done ; but 
the chief cause of failure was a prevalent want of taste 
for dramatic poetry of the highest class. 

Pope received for his earlier poetry only such pecuniary 
rewards as might be called insignificant ; but the profits 
arising from his " Homer," and from his own good 
management of money, made him independent. In his 
own frugal way, he could entertain select friends at his 
pleasant villa, and there he enjoyed the society of such 
men as Swift and Gay, the witty physician Arbuthnot, 
and the two bishops, Berkeley and Atterbury. The last- 
named, accused of treason and banished in 1723, sent 
from the Tower a farewell letter to the poet, whose reply 



POPE. 99 

was written in a style of studied solemnity. Other letters 
were written by Pope, with such careful attention to 
style, that the sincerity of his sentiments has been 
doubted. But the same trait is found in correspondence 
having reference to his mother's declining health, and 
his sincerity cannot here be doubted. Not a word of 
fiction is found in the following lines : — 

" Me let the tender office long engage, 

To rock the cradle of reposing age ; 

With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, 

Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death ; 

Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, 

And keep at least one parent from the sky." 

After 1726, Pope's talents were mostly employed in 
writing satires and moral epistles (or essays) in verse. 
Of the satires, the longest was " The Dunciad," in which 
he exposed to ridicule some authors who had offended 
him, and others from whom he had received no provoca- 
tion. For the temper betrayed in " The Dunciad," an 
apology is given in the following lines, in which the 
writer speaks of himself : — 

" Not for fame, but virtue's better end, 
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend. . . . 
The morals blackened, when the writings scape. 
The libelled person, and the pictured shape, 
Abuse on all he loved, or loved him, spread, 
A friend in exile, or a father dead." 

The " Epistles " and " Satires," including some " Imi- 
tations of Horace " — all written in the course of the 



loo EXGLISH POETS. 

years 1730-58 — contain the best specimens of Pope's 
writing, and combine, in his own style, good sense, pierc- 
ing VTiX, and lively fancy. His more striking rhetorical 
traits are seen in adroit uses of climax, antitliesis, and 
irony. Of the last two figures combined, one brief 
example may be given in two lines addressed to a 
querulous and conceited sceptic : — 

'■ Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule — 
Then drop into thyself, and be a fool 1 " 

Energ}'' and conciseness are united in numerous 
passages, of which the following lines may afford one 
example. They tell how a ruling passion — vanity — 
may assert itself at the close of life : — 

" ' Odious I — in woollen — 'twould a saint provoke ! ' 
(Were the last words that poor Xarcissa spoke — 
' No I let a charming chintz and Brussels lace 
Wrap my cold Umbs, and shade my lifeless face : 
One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — 
And — Bett)- : — give this cheek a httle red .' ' "' 

A finer example of concise energy is found in Pope's 
short sermon on that commonplace text, "Virtue is its 
own reward " : — 

'• What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy. 
The souls cahn sunshine and the heart-felt joy, 
Is \irtue's prize : a better would you fix? 
Then give Hiunility a coach and six, 
Justice a conquerors sword, or Truth a gown, 
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a crown. 
Weak, foolish man I wiU Heaven reward us there 
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here ? 



POPE. loi 

The boy and man an individual makes, 
Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes ? 
Go, like the Indian, in another life. 
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife; 
As well as dream such trifles are assigned, 
As toys and empires, for a godlike mind" 

Four of the didactic epistles, written in the course of 
the years 1732-34, were collected under the general title, 
" An Essay on Man." The optimistic theor)' maintained 
in the essay was partly borrowed from conversations 
with Lord Bolingbroke, one of the poet's friends. Such 
a theory should be given either as founded on Divine 
Revelation, or as derived by some sure method from 
philosophical research. It seems out of place when given 
in verse, and here and there enunciated in dogmatic and 
declamatory tones. WTien Pope boldly declares that 
" whatever is, is right," a critic gives a sufficient refutation 
by appending the following note : — 

" Here Pope's ' whatever is, is right ' is wrong." 

But whatever may be the objections justly raised 
against the discursive treatment of a philosophical 
theory, it must be granted that the " Essay on Man " 
contains some of the finest passages written by Pope. 
With these may be classed the following eloquent 
lines : — 

" All are but parts of one stupendous whole. 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ; 
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same. 
Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame : 



I02 ENGLISH POETS. 

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent ; 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns. 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns ; 
To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all." 

When he had written his satires and his moral essays, 
Pope's best work in Hterature was done. He had given 
to didactic and reflective poetry its highest polish, and 
had left nothing to be done by imitators. Of new strains 
of inspiration, such as afterwards were heard in the 
poems of Gray, Goldsmith, and Cowper, some anticipa- 
tion was found in Thomson's " Seasons," published 
while Pope was writing didactic verse. He did not 
recognize in Thomson the man who would breathe new 
life into poetical literature ; but described him, rather 
coldly, as " an elegant and philosophical poet." It is 
pleasant to notice that, in 1738, Pope made some endea- 
vours to help that good and brave man, Samuel Johnson, 
who was then fighting with cruel poverty. 

Shades of melancholy were spread over Pope's declin- 
ing years. At the age of fifty-three he was old and 
almost worn out, afflicted with frequent head-ache, and 
so feeble that he could not dress himself without assist- 
ance. In company he would often fall asleep in the 
midst of a conversation. He had lost his cheerful friend 



POPE. 103 

Gay, and kind and witty Arbuthnot, " friend and phy- 
sician." Lord Bolingbroke, with all his philosophy, was 
a poor substitute for Swift, over whose mind shades of 
deep night were lowering. Neither death nor distance, 
but " a darkness that might be felt," separated Pope 
from Swift. The latter hardly spoke a word during the 
last three years of his life. 

With one faithful friend, Ralph Allen, Pope spent some 
time, in 1741, at Prior Park, near Bath, and here, in a 
pleasant rural retreat, his time was mostly occupied in 
writing a fourth book, to make " The Dunciad " com- 
plete. In burlesque-sublime style this fourth book 
describes the victory won by " dunces," and the all-per- 
vading influence of their goddess, " Dulness." Under her 
dominion, education is reduced to barren formality, and 
schools are castles of indolence. Collectors of petty 
curiosities take the places vacated by men of science ; 
but while poetry is suppressed, a free range is still left 
for mathematical paradox : — 

" Mad Mdthesis alone was unconfined, 
Too mad for mere material chains to bind, 
Now to pure space lifts her extatic stare, 
Now, running round the circle, finds it — square." 

Religion, like poetry, is suppressed ; law and morality 
share the same fate ; the intellectual world becomes 
blank space ; primeval night and chaos return, 

" And universal darkness buries all." 

There is a sublimity of absurdity in the closing pas- 



104 ENGLISH POETS. 

sages of "The Dunciad." It seems sad, that some of 
Pope's latest studies were devoted to literary controversy. 
His " long disease " called hfe came to a close in 1744. 
In May his friend, Martha Blount, came to Twickenham 
to say farewell to Alexander Pope. His extreme weak- 
ness was followed by intervals of delirium. In calm 
moments he expressed a firm belief in his soul's immor- 
tality. When it was evident that death was near, a 
Roman Catholic priest was called in, and from his hands 
Pope received, with expressions of deep humiliation, the 
last sacraments of the Church to which his parents 
belonged. He died tranquilly in the evening of the 
30th of May, 1744. By his will he left to Martha Blount, 
as a token of "long friendship," ;^ 1,000, with all his 
household effects, and the residue of his estate, after 
payment of debts and legacies. All that was mortal of 
Pope was interred, near his parents' remains, in Twicken- 
ham Church, where a marble monument, bearing a 
medallion portrait, was erected in 1761. Some years 
ago a report was spread that the Poet's skull had been 
taken from the vault and placed "in a phrenological 
collection." It is true that, in consequence of an acci- 
dent, the vault was partly opened, and the skull was 
taken out ; but it was soon restored to its place. There 
is something frightful in the thought of " dunces " dis- 
turbing the poet's remains. 

The chief traits of Pope's character are seen in his 
writings. Though he never left the pale of the Roman 



POPE. 105 

Catholic Church, his religious views were partly rational- 
istic, or might, in some respects, be called " latitudi- 
narian." " I as little fear," he said, "that God will damn 
a man who has Charity, as I hope that any priest can 
save him without it." It is hard to show how Pope 
could harmonize his parents' creed with his own natural 
theology. One thing is clear, that he saved from nega- 
tion his belief in Divine Providence and in the immor- 
tality of the soul. The names of his friends are enough 
to assure us that he possessed amiable qualities. Above 
all, his filial piety was in the highest degree exemplary. 
On the other side it may be said, he was — like some 
other men afflicted with physical deformity — too sensitive 
and querulous. He did not readily forgive an insult. 
His frugality was called parsimony, with especial respect 
to the allowance of wine that some of his guests would 
call liberal. His sentimental letters have been called 
insincere, because he wrote them with some care for 
polish, and published, by means of a stratagem, his own 
correspondence, apparently intended to be kept private. 
But he wrote polished prose, when describing his own 
ornamental grounds and his grotto ; yet surely his love 
of landscape-gardening was no affectation. One of his 
worst foibles was thinking too much of his enemies and 
of himself, and this error led him to cherish the proud 
and defiant temper expressed in the following lines : — 

" Ask you what provocation I have had 'i 
The strong antipathy of good to bad. 
P 



io6 ENGLISH POETS. 

When truth or virtue an affront endures, 

The affront is 7ni}ie, my friend, and should be yours ; 

Mine, as a foe professed to false pretence, 

Who think a coxcomb's honour like his sense ; 

Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind, 

And mine, as man, who feel for all mankind. 

Friend. You're strangely proud 

Poet. So proud, I am no slave ; 

So impudent, I own myself no knave ; 

So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. 

Yes, I am proud ; I must be proud to see 

Men, not afraid of God, afraid of me ! " 

Pope, during a considerable part of his lifetime, was 
involved in literary quarrels, and controversies have been 
provoked by his reputation. Of all disputes respecting 
his merits, the most noticeable was one in which Lord 
Byron w'as engaged on one side, with the Rev. Lisle 
Bowles on the other. There was a general want of clear 
expression on both sides of the controversy, for the words 
" poet " and " poetry," though often introduced, were 
never defined with precision. Byron spoke collectively 
of Pope's writings. Beside such expressions of enthu- 
siasm and fervid imagination as are found in the " Epistle 
of Eloisa " were placed fine passages of didactic verse, 
specimens of stinging satire, and eloquent laudations of 
virtue. When all these varied expressions of power had 
been reviewed, Byron noticed also Pope's elegantly com- 
pact diction, his wit and humour, and his adroit use 
of rhetorical figures. From a survey of all these items 
Byron induced his conclusion : — that ALEXANDER PoPE 
was a prince among English poets. 




GOLDSMITH. 




LIVER GOLDSMITH, the son of a poor 
clergyman, was bom at the hamlet Pallas' 
in the county of Longford (Ireland), on the 
1 0th of November, 1728. His father, 
Charles Goldsmith, curate of a chapel at Pallas, had a 
mean salary that, aided by some small farming, made 
forty pounds his yearly income. To the father, Charles 
Goldsmith, and perhaps to his son, Henry, who subse- 
quently held the same curacy, there seems to be a refer- 
ence in the Poet's portraiture of a Rural Pastor : — 

" A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year." 

The father's circumstances were improved in 1730, 
when he gained the living of Kilkenny West, and went 
to dwell at Lissoy, a village near Ballymahon. There 
Oliver's childhood was passed ; not without affliction. 
In his eighth year an attack of small-pox left his face 



loS EXGLISN POETS. 

scarred and disfigured for life. He was called a dull 
boy when he went to school at Lissoy. and it can hardly 
be doubted that his best lessons were learned in the 
open air, and A\-itliout such aid as books and rods supply. 
He learned to look with kindness on the lives of poor 
people, and on the face of nature. When fifteen years 
old, he received some pecuniar)^ aid from an uncle, 
named Contarine, and was admitted as a sizar or " poor 
scholar " of Trinity College. Dublin, where he graduated 
as B.A. in 1749. Wliile he was at college his father died, 
leaxnng but slender resources for his widow, who went to 
live at Ballymahon. There, and in the neighbourhood, 
Oliver, after lea\nng Dublin, stayed two years, visited re- 
latives, and sometimes gave aid in a school kept by his 
elder brotlier Henn,-, curate of the chapel at Pallas. 

When twent>-three }-ears old. Oliver, following advice 
given by his uncle, presented himself as a candidate for 
holy orders to the Bishop of Elphin, by whom he was re- 
jected. His way of hfe had been free and careless, and 
at college his irregularities had offended a harsh tutor. 
Of such antecedents the bishop might probably hear 
some report But Olivers failure has been ascribed to 
the costume worn when he went to Elphin. He disliked, 
we are told, the solemnity of a black suit, and wore 
"scarlet breeches." This story seems founded on the 
fact that in later life Goldsmith hked gay colour in 
dress. For one year after the failure at Elphin, he had 
the experience of a private tutor, and subsequently lived 



GOLDSMITH. 109 

for some time with his brother Henry. Then, again 
aided by his uncle, Oliver went to study medicine at 
Edinburgh and at Leyden, where he was staying in 1754- 
His subsequent failure of resources might be partly as- 
cribed to a love of gambling. Covetousness was no part 
of his nature, and he had neither the skill nor the cunning 
of an expert gambler ; but he loved the perilous excite- 
ment of a gaming-table. Some " good luck " that he 
once enjoyed at Leyden was in fact a misfortune. The 
money soon won was almost as soon wasted, and the ad- 
venturer was left in a foreign land and without friends. 
From Leyden he sent home to his uncle Contarine a 
present of some choice bulbs of tulips, and then started 
for a long tour on the continent. In the course of two 
years (1754-6) he travelled, mostly on foot, in France, 
Switzerland, and Italy, and came destitute of money to 
London. How had he maintained himself during the 
time } There is no sure answer ; but the belief enter- 
tained by his friends seems well founded. In his life- 
time it was generally believed that his own adventures 
during his travels were like those ascribed to " George " 
in "The Vicar of Wakefield." In Holland he gave 
private lessons, played the flute to amuse rustic people 
in Flanders, and, after other exercises of versatile ability, 
was engaged as the travelling tutor of a wealthy and 
covetous young man, with whom he did not long agree. 
Goldsmith returned from the continent, and came to 
London in 1756. At that time the circumstances of 



no EXGLISH POETS. 

unaided men of genius and learning were by no means 
enviable. The age of patronage had passed awa}', and 
booksellers would not give much for copyright that must 
expire at the time when it might otherwise rapidly in- 
crease in value. Authors, though too numerous for their 
own welfare, were but a feeble minority, and conse- 
quently the results of their best labours were taken from 
them by confiscation. The statute of Anne, by which 
copyright was limited, did not suppress writers of party 
pamphlets and other ephemeral productions ; but it op- 
pressed good and great men of the class to which John- 
son and Goldsmith belonged. After all his hard 
struggles for bread, and when his great work, the 
Dictionary, had appeared, Johnson, in the year when 
Goldsmith came to town, was so poor that he was 
arrested for a debt of less than six pounds. He was 
then helped by Samuel Richardson, who was the writer 
of very successful novels. His prosperity seems mar- 
vellous ; but he made his money mostly by printing. 
Other exceptions to the general rule of oppression and 
poverty among literary men were more apparent than 
real. There were some rewards for mean authors who 
would sell themselves to the ruling party in politics ; but 
Sir Robert Walpole had almost invariably refused to 
give aid to genius and learning, and his example was 
followed by other ministers. Young, author of the 
"Night Thoughts," received a pension, and in i860 
Johnson's claims were noticed by Lord Bute. But on 



GOLDSMITH. iii 

the whole the period 1728-74, including Goldsmith's life- 
time, was for honourable literary men a deplorable time. 
Soon after his arrival in London, Goldsmith saw 
enough of the misery of poor authors, and he made some 
endeavours to escape from it. Among the lowest mer- 
cenary scribblers and schemers of that time there were 
some ways of winning money to which he could never 
stoop. Of these he gives (with some humorous ex- 
aggeration) one amusing specimen, as a part of the 
story told by " George " : — 

" As I was meditating one day, in a coffee-house " (says " George "), 
" a little man happening to enter the room placed himself in the box 
before me, and, after some preliminary discourse, finding me to be a 
scholar, drew out a bundle of proposals, begging me to subscribe to 
a new edition he was going to give the world of ' Pf-opertius., with 
Notes' This demand necessarily produced a reply that I had no 
money ; and that concession led him to inquire into the nature of 
my expectations. Finding that my expectations were just as great 
as my purse, ' I see,' cried he, ' you are unacquainted with the town. 
I'll teach you a part of it. Look at these proposals ; upon these 
proposals I have subsisted very comfortably for twelve years. The 
moment a nobleman returns from his travels, a Creolian arrives 
from Jamaica, or dowager from her country-seat, I strike for a sub- 
scription. I first besiege their hearts with flattery, and then pour 
in my proposals at the breach. If they subscribe readily the first 
time, I renew my request, to beg a dedication fee ; if they let me 
have that, I smite them once more for engraving their coat-of-arms 
at the top. Thus,' continued he, ' I live by vanity and laugh at it ; 
but, between ourselves, I am now too well known. I should be glad 
to borrow your face a bit ; a nobleman of distinction has just re- 
turned from Italy ; my face is familiar to his porter ; but if you 
bring this copy of verses, my life for it, you succeed, and we divide 



112 ENGLISH POETS. 

the spoil.'" [" George " declined the offer. . . . Having a mind too 
proud to stoop to such indignities, and yet a fortune too humble to 
hazard a second attempt for fame, he was now obliged to take a 
middle course, and write for tread.] 

To escape from the misery of writing for bread, Gold- 
smith, before the time when his name was known, sought 
and found employment as assistant in a chemist's shop, 
at the corner of Monument Yard. At that time he was 
so far changed in aspect by misery, that he was not 
easily recognized by Dr. Sleigh, whom he had known 
well in Edinburgh. Aided by this good friend, he 
bought a suit of clothes, of which the faded colour had 
once been green, and took apartments in Bankside, a 
poor neighbourhood in Southwark, where his attempt to 
obtain practice as a medical man was a failure. He then 
found employment in correcting proofs for Richardson, 
the successful novelist and printer, who had extensive 
offices in Salisbury Court. This occupation did not last 
long; for in 1757 Goldsmith was living as an usher in a 
private school, kept by Dr. Milner at Peckham. At that 
time green fields and gardens made pleasant the neigh- 
bourhood where the house now called " Goldsmith's 
House " stands retired under a dark shadow of trees. At 
Peckham, the usher was introduced to a bookseller, Mr. 
Griffith, who — aided by his wife — edited and published a 
Monthly Review, for which Goldsmith was engaged to 
write certain articles. His essays had sometimes the 
advantage (or endured the disgrace) of corrections and 



GOLDSMITH. 113 

improvements made by Mrs. Griffith ! For payment he 
had a small salary, a room in the publisher's house, and 
a share in the misery of penurious housekeeping. After 
a dispute with his slave-driving employers, he was glad 
to go back and, for a time, help Dr. Milner again in the 
Peckham school. The work of an usher has hardly 
been made delightful by all the ameliorations introduced 
in schools since Goldsmith's time. He did not like his 
task, and therefore tried to pass an examination in 
surgery, in order to gain the post of a hospital mate in 
the army or in the navy. His failure left him indebted 
to Mr. Griffith for the value of a suit of clothes, which 
had been pawned. To pay for these he returned to 
hack-writing, hired a garret in Green Arbour Court, and 
there wrote a " Memoir of Voltaire," which was accepted 
by Mr. Griffith as full payment for the pawned suit of 
clothes. This slight "Memoir" was soon followed by 
a better work, entitled "An Enquiry into the Present 
State of Polite Learning in Europe," which gained for 
the writer introductions to several editors and publishers, 
" The Enquiry," says a brilliant and severe critic, " had 
little value." It led, however, to a turning-point in the 
poor author's fortune ; he was recognized and com- 
mended by respectable men, and soon contributed to 
" The Public Ledger " the genial essays subsequently 
collected under the title " The Citizen of the World." 
These were followed by a series of " Letters on the 
History of England," which had great success, and were 
Q 



114 ENGLISH POETS. 

afterwards reduced to the form of a very popular school 
book. 

Goldsmith having gained a position — such as was 
seldom won in his time by fair hard work — left his mean 
hiding-place, and found better lodgings ; first in Wine 
Office Court, and after\\ards in Islington. About this 
time he was introduced to the famous Literary Club, of 
which Johnson, Burke, and Reynolds were members. 
Their place of meeting was the Turk's Head, Gerrard 
Street, Soho, As a talker, Goldsmith, though his genius 
would now and then shine out, could not compete with 
such giants as Johnson and Burke. In word-duels with 
the former, the Poet was sometimes silenced by the voice 
of authority. "Why, no sir!" Johnson would say; or "Sir, 
your genius is great, but your knowledge is small." At 
other times the Poet had the advantage, as when he said 
to the great man : — " If you were to write a fable about 
little fishes, doctor, you would make the little fishes talk 
like whales." There was no harm done by such fighting. 
Goldsmith found a friend in the man whose greatest fault 
was liking Latin better than English. Pleasant society 
and eloquent talk often made the poet forget for a time 
his precarious circumstances. He could write well, and 
was earning more money than before, but he had no 
skill in keeping it. Moreover, he sometimes felt weary 
of task-work, and he knew well that if he could exist in 
the mean time, he could write something better than the 
" History of England." His memories of rural life at 



GOLDSMITH. T15 

Lissoy, of wanderings on the continent, and of hardship 
endured in London ; thoughts of his father and of 
Henry, the curate at Pallas : — these were all waiting for 
poetic treatment. Now and then he wrote lines after- 
wards included in his poem "The Traveller;" at other 
times he wrote parts of " The Vicar of Wakefield," and 
no doubt he had pleasure in thus blending his own ex- 
perience with imagination. But while thus employed 
he was earning no money, and when the story of the 
good Vicar was completed, the author was arrested for 
arrears of rent. Then he sent a note rightly addressed 
— not to a man hardened by wealth, but to the man 
who " had nothing of the bear save his skin." Johnson 
immediately sent a guinea, and soon came to devise 
means of release. To him the poet showed his "Vicar 
of Wakefield." When some portion of the manuscript 
had been read, Johnson saw its merit, and soon sold it 
for £60 ; but its publication was deferred for two years. 
Released from extreme anxiety. Goldsmith completed 
his poem " The Traveller," which appeared at the close 
of the year 1764, and was praised by every reader who 
could appreciate its union of thought with imagination 
and feeling. One eulogy, ascribed to a lady, was re- 
markably significant, and well expressed. The Poet was 
by no means "a handsome man ;" he was scarred with 
small-pox, had a complexion of " frost-bitten bloom," 
and was sometimes called " ugly." But Miss Reynolds 
could see beyond the surface, and, when she had heard 



ii6 ENGLISH POETS. 

the poem read, she declared that never again would she 
call the writer '' ugly." His fame was suddenly and 
widely spread ; booksellers collected and re-published 
his essays, and Newber>' brought out, in IVIay, 1766, 
" The Vicar of Wakefield." IMeanwhile the author took 
chambers in the Temple, bought a respectable suit of 
clothes, and made another unsuccessful endeavour to 
begin practice as a medical man. His failure is ascribed 
to a want of skill and address ; but it might be as natu- 
rally ascribed to a cause well understood by striving 
men — he had not time to make a beginning, or to wait 
for practice. His thoughts were next turned toward 
dramatic writing, and in 1768 his comedy, "The Good- 
natured Man," appeared. Its first performance was not 
a sure success, and the disappointment made him shed 
tears. The ultimate result was however so far good, that 
he received for the play more than seven times the sum 
paid for " The Vicar of Wakefield." That money was 
soon and unwisely expended, mostly in taking and fur- 
nishing chambers in Brick Court, Middle Temple, where 
he gave to his friends some good dinners, followed by 
jovial mirth. While there was money in his purse he 
was always ready to give, and his free expenditure was 
too soon followed by another appearance of his old, 
grim companion, poverty. Then he went to work again 
for the booksellers, and projected some extensive Avorks, 
for which he received advances of money. 

To find quietude for study, and to avoid the tcmpta- 



GOLDSMITH. 117 

tions of life in town, he left Brick Court at times, and 
lived in seclusion at a place situate on the Edgware 
Road, and seven miles distant from London. There he 
wrote a " History of Rome," and a considerable part of 
the " History of Animated Nature." He found, mean- 
while, relief in pleasant rural walks, and was cheered by 
the friendship of a genial family, the Hornecks, with 
whom he enjoyed, in 1770, an excursion to Paris. In 
that year appeared his poem " The Deserted Village," 
of which five editions were sold in three months. In 
1773 the comedy "She Stoops to Conquer," was first 
performed at Covent Garden, and won for the manager 
more than ^^"400. But the success was not enough to 
pay all the writer's debts. While lovers of cheerful 
comedy were laughing at Tony Lumpkin, the author 
was wearily proceeding with his work on "Animated 
Nature," for which he had already received payment. 
Then he wrote his " Grecian History," and projected a 
" Dictionary of Arts and Sciences," an enterprise for 
which no encouragement could be found. To save him 
from oppressive work and care, his friends made endea- 
vours to obtain for him a pension ; but he had already 
refused to sell himself, and accordingly his claims were 
left unnoticed. 

In 1774 Goldsmith owed ;6"2000. He was only forty- 
five years old, and might trust that he had still energy 
enough to liberate himself from debt. Too late he 
thought of leaving Brick Court, and going away to work 



ii8 ENGLISH POETS. 

quietlyonce more,in his seclusion near the Edgware Road. 
Overwork and anxiety were kilHng him. His father and 
his brother Henry had been called away by death. He 
had no wife, no relative to console him. His cheerful- 
ness sometimes shone out again at the club ; but he was 
often restless and moody, even when he was surrounded 
by his friends. About this time he was grieved by a 
stroke of satire aimed at some of his conversational 
failures, such as were made when he was talking at the 
club. At a coffee-house, where several literary friends 
were present, it was agreed between Garrick and Gold- 
smith that each should make an epitaph for the other, 
and the actor at once produced these lines : — 

" Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 
Who wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll." 

Of course the company laughed ; but the poet felt 
" rather sore," and declined making a reply there and 
then. At home [or say rather in Brick Court] he wrote 
the verses called " Retaliation," full of his native good- 
humour, but including this retort upon the player : — 

" On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting, 
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting." 

" Retaliation " was the writer's last production. In 
March, 1774, when suffering from disease induced by 
overwork, he persisted too long in treating his own case. 
A physician was at last called in, and held out some 
hope of recovery ; but anxiety made futile all medical 



GOLDSMITH. 119 

aid. When the physician kindly asked, " Is your mind 
at ease?" the patient briefly answered, "No, it is not." 
These were the last words spoken by Oliver Goldsmith. 
He died in the morning of Monday, the 4th of April, 
1774. His friend, Mary Horneck, came from the retreat 
on the Edgware Road to ask for a lock of his hair. On 
the staircase of his chambers in Brick Court stood 
mourners ; no relatives, but poor persons and some 
" outcasts " of society, whose misery had been relieved 
by his charity. His remains Avere laid in the Temple 
burial-ground. No complete and well-written story of 
Goldsmith's life was ever published before the year 
1854.^ 

Goldsmith's writings are popular in the right sense of 
the word. The passing noise often called " popularity " 
is one thing ; the quiet voice of the people is another. 
"There are few writers," says Irving, "for whom the 
reader feels such personal kindness as for Oliver Gold- 
smith, for few have so eminently possessed the magic 
gift of identifying themselves with their writings. We 
read his character in every page, and grow into familiar 
intimacy with him as we read. The artless benevolence 
that beams through his works ; the whimsical yet amiable 
views of human life and human nature; the unforced 
humour, blending so happily with good feeling and good 
sense, and singularly dashed at times with a pleasing 

' " Life and Times of Goldsmith," by John Forster. 1854. 



I20 EXGLISH POETS. 

melancholy ; even the very nature of his mellow, flowing, 
and softly-tinted style : — all seem to bespeak his moral 
as well as his intellectual qualities, and make us love the 
man, at the same time that we admire the author." 
Thus speaks a genial American writer. On the other 
side, all that can be said against Goldsmith has been 
keenly said by a brilliant critic, in sharp tones that seem 
to have called forth no popular echoes. The tones of 
"the mellow horn" travel further than the shrill notes 
of the fife. Some years before Goldsmith's death, his 
writings were read with delight in Germany. 

If a word might be changed. Pope's summary of Gay's 
character might serve for Goldsmith's. He was in mind 
a man, and in simplicity a child. In many instances the 
transition from youth to manhood casts into shade all 
traits of childhood. His knowledge of the evil that is in 
the world, and in his own heart, makes the man reserved, 
prudent, and cautious. He wears the armour of "the 
man who feareth always," and is less joyous than in his 
youthful time, but more secure. He is a dry, hard 
politician, and has for ever " put away " all the foibles 
and the amiable qualities of childhood. Such is the 
experience of many a normal " man of the world." But 
Goldsmith's soul never suffered such a change as that. 
His practical life was, in some respects, erroneous and 
unhappy ; but his heart was never hardened by adver- 
sity, as others have too often been by prosperity. The 
pervading motive of his best writings was to plead for 



GOLDSMITH. 121 

kind relations between distinct classes of society. He 
pleaded for the poor, for the wretched, even for the 
criminal "who had no helper." He made beautiful 
that religion of which St. James was a teacher. Chaucer 
has described beautifully the character of " The Poor 
Parson," and Wordsworth has written fine poetry on 
the same subject ; but nothing said by these poets can 
be compared with Goldsmith's portraiture of a rural 
pastor : — 

" Near yonder copse where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden-iiower grows wild ; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place. 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train. 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
The long- remembered beggar was his guest. 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there and had his claims allowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
Sat by his fire and talked the night away, 
Wept o'er his wounds or — tales of sorrow done — ■ 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
R 



ENGLISH POETS. 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

" Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
But in his duty, prompt at every call, 
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. 
And as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies ; 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

" Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control. 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

" At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man 
With steady zeal each honest rustic ran ; 
E'en children followed, with endearing wile. 
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile ; 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given. 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 



m: 







irr 




BURNS. 




OBERT BURNS was born in a cottage near 
Alloway Church, Ayrshire, on the 25th of 
January, 1759. His father, William Burns, 
was for some time overseer of an estate at 
Doonholm, and, seven years after the birth of his eldest 
son; he went to a small farm, where for twelve years 
he worked hard to win bread from poor soil. In the 
latter part of that time he w^as assisted by his two sons, 
Robert and Gilbert, who were compelled to support 
themselves before they were twenty years old. Their 
father was a devout man, who had an independent spirit 
and a strong will. To him they were indebted for their 
moral training and their earliest religious impressions. 
Shortly before their father's death, Robert and Gilbert 
took a small farm at Mossgicl, and there laboured to 
maintain themselves and the rest of the Burns family. 
After four years of work on the farm, Robert, despairing 



126 ENGLISH POETS. 

duties. He therefore gave up farming, and in 1791 went 
to live at Dumfries, where his income was raised to £^0 
a year. He performed so well the duties of his office, 
that he escaped censure, at a time when supervision was 
strict and watchful. A contrary assertion has been erro- 
neously founded on the fact, that Burns once received 
some admonition respecting his freedom in talking of 
political affairs. Like some thousands at that time 
(1792) he hoped that some good would come out of 
the French Revolution. He had seized lately a small 
smuggling craft, and when her stores were sold he 
bought four carronades, and shipped them as a present 
to the French Convention. For this act he received an 
admonition, which had no reference to any neglect in 
doing an exciseman's work. In an annotated register of 
officers' names for the " Dumfries Collection," two notes 
placed opposite the name Robert Burns are these : — 
" Turns out well." " The Poet does pretty well." It 
seems clear, then, that he fulfilled his duties ; but it can 
hardly be supposed that his five years at Dumfries were 
happy. His work and his associations too often led him 
away from his wife and family, and exposed him to 
temptations. During the years spent at his father's 
farm and at Mossgiel, his temperance and frugality were 
remarkable, and his expenses never exceeded his narrow 
income. At Dumfries he was too often found in taverns, 
where his associates were men for whom his wit and 
humour were but accompaniments of convivial excess. 



BURNS. 127 

He yielded to temptation, and he suffered bitterly. The 
intemperance that, for some hardy, boon companions, 
seemed almost innocuous, was a swift poison for Burns, 
whose nervous system was always delicate, even when 
he had the muscular strength required by an Ayrshire 
ploughman. 

While he was still poor, and his health was declining, 
he was contributing to Thomson's " Select Scottish Melo- 
dies " a series of songs, including some of his most 
beautiful specimens of lyrical poetry, and some adapta- 
tions of old songs. For these contributions, and for all 
the expenditure of time demanded by a long correspon- 
dence with Thomson, the Poet refused to accept any 
remuneration. There can be no doubt, however, that 
the correspondence referred to served often to cheer 
his mind during the latest and most unhappy period of 
his life. At that time he still remembered too well the 
youthful dreams and aspirations, so finely described in 
" The Vision." From the noise of common-place life in 
Dumfries, he loved to retire to a lonely resting-place, 
near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, which suggested a 
theme for one of his later poems. The following lines, 
expressing a love of harmony and repose, are remark- 
ably contrasted with many other poems written by 
Burns : — 

" Hark ! what more than mortal sound 

Of music breathes the pile around.'' 

'Tis the soft chanted choral song 

Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong, 



128 ENGLISH POETS. 

Till, thence returned, they softly stray 
O'er Cluden's wave, with fond delay ; 
Now on the rising gale swell high, 
And now in fainting murmurs die. 

" The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream 
Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
The holy anthem loud and clear ; 
Each worldly thought awhile forbear, 
And mutter forth a half-formed prayer." 

It has been noticed that for his beautiful songs, written 
while he was living at Dumfries, Burns would not accept 
any payment ; but when he was lying on his death-bed, 
he wrote to Thomson, asked earnestly for a loan of ;^5, 
and thus made an apology for the request : " A haber- 
dasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into his 
head that I am dying, has commenced a process, and 
will infallibly put me into gaol. Do, for God's sake, send 
me that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me 
this earnestness ; but the horrors of a gaol have made 
me half distracted. . . . Forgive, forgive me ! " 

A few days after writing that painful note Robert 
Burns died, on the 21st of July, 1796. His debts, which 
were small, were paid by friends, and a fund was raised 
for the support of his widow and her family. His 
remains were interred in a corner of the churchyard at 
Dumfries, and, seven years after his death, a sum of 
money was collected to erect a monument. At that 
time Wordsworth visited the grave of Burns, and, soon 
afterwards, wrote the following stanza : — 



BURNS. 129 

" Through busiest street and loneliest glen 

Are felt the flashes of his pen ; 

He rules 'mid winter snows, and when 

Bees fill their hives ; 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives." 

The poetry of Burns, though mostly lyrical in its ele- 
ments, as in forms of expression, includes lyrical-dra- 
matic poems and others that may be called reflective. 
Of his narrative style " Tarn o' Shanter " is the most 
splendid example. The reflective poems, mostly written 
in the form of " Epistles," are full of genial humour. The 
Poet's worst productions are his epigrams and epitaphs. 
Shortly before his death, "he lamented that he had 
written many (satirical) epigrams on persons against 
whom he entertained no enmity." 

Accepting the word lyrical in its stricter sense, as 
applied to songs set to music, we may aflirm, that 
Burns was the greatest of all the lyrical poets of Great 
Britain. But he was more than that ; he was a lyrical- 
dramatic poet, whose humour was as rich as his pathos 
was deep. Though his poems are mostly lyrical in their 
form, as in their spirit, he had a truly dramatic genius ; 
of all endowments the most extraordinary. It is with 
reference to this dramatic power, to its essential char- 
acter but not to its development, that the " Ayrshire 
ploughman " may be named in the same breath with 
Shakespeare. The hawthorn-blossom and the rose 
belong to one family, and, with regard to the essential 
S 



130 ENGLISH POETS. 

character of his genius, Burns claims relationship with 
the greatest of poets. With respect to mental grasp, 
development, and universality, it is agreed that no poet 
can be placed anywhere near Shakespeare. 

All the poems written by Burns may be well printed 
in one small volume. No book of poetry written by one 
man contains in so small a compass so much variety. 
The author made a full confession in his poetry, and 
gave to the world the story of his life. His own char- 
acter is found by no means on every page, but in the 
complete series of his poems, taken as a whole. To 
hear the variety of his tones we take, not alone the 
wondrous tale of " Tam o' Shanter," nor the farewell to 
" Highland Mary," nor that addressed to " The bonnie 
banks of Ayr." From these we turn to " The Daisy," 
" The wee bit, Mousie," and to that beautiful idyl, " The 
Cotter's Saturday Night." What a contrast when we 
turn to the playful humour of " Hallowe'en," the grim 
humour of "Death and Doctor Hornbook," the satire 
of " The Holy Fair," the melodious revelry of " The 
Beggars' Cantata," and the quaint blending of all 
imaginable contrasts in the inimitable " Address to the 
Deil!" The variety already indicated is great, though 
only two of the author's songs have been noticed. 

In union with wide-spread sympathy and imaginative 
power, the poet had a perfect command of melodious 
expression. The beauties of his finest songs are not 
fairly estimated by solitary, silent reading. They have 



BURNS. 131 

in themselves such music that, when well read aloud, 
they want no accompaniments to make them charming. 
Of censure only one word may here be noticed. The 
Poet, when dwelling on his own favourite theme, love, 
fails here and there to maintain self-control and reserve; 
essential elements in art and in life. But in his lyrical, 
as in his reflective poetry, fine expressions of pure senti- 
ments are abundant. A dissertation on friendship has 
not the power of the song " Auld Lang Syne," and a 
lecture on independence is not wanted after such a song 
as " For a' That." The " Epistle to a Young Friend " 
combines some qualities of a good song with those of 
a good sermon. In several lectures and essays, moral 
lessons of great value have been derived from the Poet's 
own experience. This, however, was better done by 
himself, in the stanzas entitled "A Bard's Epitaph." 
Two, that may be given here, have reference to the later 
years of his short lifetime : — 

" Is there a man whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, through the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

" The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow 

And sober flame ; 
But thoughtless foUies laid him low. 

And stained his name." 



132 ENGLISH POETS. 

The influence of Burns on the culture of poetry was 
most beneficial. He must be classed with Thomson, 
Cowper, and Wordsworth, as one of the men who, after 
a rather dreary age of literature, restored to poetry its 
union with Nature, and with the ordinary cares, joys, and 
sorrows of human life. To use a German phrase, " he 
did not snatch his themes out of the air," nor go looking 
for them in cloud-land or dream-land ; but he found 
them in his own district of Ayrshire. Beside all the 
movement and variety of his human figures, we find 
everywhere in his poetry Nature sympathizing with every 
mood of his mind, and surrounding all with her own life. 
Late autumn sighed with him when he said " Farewell, 
the bonnie banks of Ayr ! " " The wind blew as 'twad 
blawn its last," when the immortal " Tam o' Shanter " 
rode forth : — 

" The rattlin' showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed. 
That night a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand." 

No poet has ever had in England a popularity like 

that of Burns in his native land. There — 

" Deep in the general heart of men 
His power survives." 

The story of his life has been so often told, that it is 
known by every reader in Scotland.^ Several monu- 

' Of all biographies of Burns the most complete is one written 
by Robert Chambers. 



£[/J?NS. 133 

merits have been erected to his memory, and the editions 
of his poems that have been pubHshed since 1800 cannot 
be readily counted. In January, 1859, the centenary of 
the Poet's birthday was celebrated by a festival held at 
the Crystal Palace, Sydenham. Odes and other poems on 
" Burns " were then produced, in competition for a prize, 
which was awarded to an Ode written by a Scottish 
lady. Another and a shorter poem written on that 
occasion may serve to conclude this brief memoir of 
Burns : — 

" He was a bard whose harp, like Nature's own, 
Had many chords and every change of tone. 
In Summer, airs that played o'er ' banks and braes ' 
Made music sweet, in concord with his lays; 
And when he said ' Farewell, ye banks of Ayr,' 
Stern Winter sighed in concert with despair. 

"Now with a sudden change, as in a dream, 
He tells of moonlit dell and haunted stream ; 
Of sprites ; of fairies dancing on the green ; 
Of all the rural pranks of Hallowe'en. 

" Or, while he thinks, with many a guess and fear. 
Of present grief and of a prospect drear. 
It grieves the ploughman, when the glittering share 
Uproots ' the mountain daisy ' he would spare. 

" His love spreads widely, like the light that falls 
On lowly dwellings and on palace walls. 
But most he loves to share the joys obscure 
And tell ' the simple annals of the poor ; ' 
Or — lays of lighter tone forgotten now — 
Beside the Cotter's ' ingle-cheek ' to bow. 



t34 ENGLISH POETS. 

" The pensive man who, on the banks of Ayr, 
Oft mused, at close of day, ' oppressed by care,' 
Shall mourn no more. The solitary hour. 
The gathering twilight, and the fading flower, 
His own drear life, the sorrows of mankind, 
No more shall grieve his sympathetic mind. 

" Then mourn not though the voice, that had such ski 

To charm the listener, is for ever still. 

Immortal life all dying forms pervades ; 

Still lives the grass, though perish all the blades. 

The splendour, fading in the western sky, 

Fades but to shine, and only seems to die — 

For ever dying, ever newly born. 

Setting, while rising in another morn. 

" So lives the Poet's song ; in hearts that thrill 
To hear its music, he is with you still. 
'Twas but a life of grief that passed away ; 
His own true life is here with you, to-day." 




^ 




WORDSWORTH. 




ILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the son of 
John Wordsworth, an attorney, was born 
at Cockermouth (in Cumberland) on the 
7th of April, 1770. A strong will and a love 
of freedom were the leading traits of his boyhood. His 
early training, by no means severe, was highly favourable 
to the development of both mental and physical health. 
When nine years old, he was sent to a school at Hawks- 
head, a market village, where — as he tells us — 

" The grassy church-yard hangs 
Upon a slope above the village school." 

There he was near Coniston Water and Winandermere. 
In his later boyhood and youth he paid visits to relations 
living at Penrith, spent many holiday hours in Lowther 
Park, and roamed among hills and lakes, filling his mind 
with all the imagery reflected so faithfully in his poetry. 
At that time he says — 



138 ENGLISH POETS. 

a spot near Crewkerne, and latterly near Stowey, a 
pleasant place two miles distant from the sea, and lying 
among woodlands, downs, and many narrow valleys. 
Here Wordsworth, in concert with his brother poet 
Coleridge, produced a volume of poems, entitled " Ly- 
rical Ballads," which gave rise to a controversy re- 
specting such "poetic diction" as had been admired in 
the eighteenth century. Wordsworth maintained that 
our pure English of every-day life should be employed 
as the natural language of poetry, when its themes be- 
long to ordinary life. The attacks of critics soon led him 
to write in his own defence a series of prefaces and ap- 
pendices, which contain rich materials for a treatise on 
poetry, but are defective with respect to method. 

The publication of the ballads was followed by a visit 
to Germany. There Wordsworth talked with the veteran 
poet Klopstock, and for some time stayed at Goslar, a 
mining town in the Harz district. After his return to 
England, he lived with his sister at Grasmere, and in 
1802 married his cousin Mary Hutchinson, the lady 
whom he thus describes :— 

" A perfect Woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of angelic light." 

After his marriage, the Poet's sister Dorothy still re- 
mained with him, and to her influence may be ascribed 
the refined beauty of many passages in his poetry. She 



IV O K D S IVOR TH. 1 39 

was his companion in 1803 when, with Coleridge, they 
made a tour in Scotland. One of their first visits was to 
the grave of Burns, over which no memorial stone had then 
been laid. From the churchyard they went to his house, 
which " had a mean appearance," but " was cleanly and 
neat in the inside." The tour supplied themes for several 
poems, including the "Address to a Highland Girl" — a 
fine expression of ideal love. Wherever he wandered, 
Wordsworth found materials for poetry, and he still 
maintained his creed, that plain English is true " poetic 
diction." That creed did not excite contempt when he 
wrote a poem on " Rob Roy's Grave," in which these 
stanzas are found : — 

" Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart 
And wondrous length and strength of arm ; 
Nor craved he more to quell his foes, 

Or keep his friends from harm. 

* * * 

And thus among these rocks he lived, 
Through summer heat and winter snow ; 
The eagle, he was lord above, 

And Rob was lord below." 

In 1805 the Poet lost his brother John, who perished 
in the wreck of an East India Company's vessel, of 
which he was commander. He was one of the elect few 
who before 1805 believed that his brother William was 
a great poet. In the next year Wordsworth completed 
" The Waggoner," a poem partly humorous, of which 
the story is very simple and perfectly true. " Benjamin " 



140 ENGLISH POETS. 

was the kind and clever driver of a heavy wain. Over 
the hills rising between Grasmere and Keswick he had 
long driven safely his team ; but he was sometimes 
tempted to stay too long at the " Swan " or the " Cherry 
Tree," and at last he yielded so far that he lost his em- 
ployment. His kindness was partly the cause of his fall. 
Finding a poor sailor overtaken by a storm, he gave 
him shelter in the waggon. The friendship thus begun 
was cemented at the " Cherry Tree," and ended in con- 
vivial excess. They stayed too long there — 

"And then what kindness in their hearts ! 
What tears of rapture, what vow-making, 
Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking ! 
What solemn, vacant interlacing, 
As if they'd fall asleep embracing ! " 

At the close of the year 1807, Wordsworth wrote " The 
White Doc of Rylstone," a romantic story suggested by 
a visit to Bolton Priory. After all that he had seen in 
his own native district, the poet found great delight in 
some tours in Yorkshire, especially in Craven and Wens- 
leydale, and in the valley of the Wharfe. Meanwhile he 
did not lose his care for political affairs ; but wrote a tract 
on the " Convention of Cintra," and a series of patriotic 
sonnets, breathing defiance and contempt of Bonaparte, 
who was denounced as "the meanest of men." In 1813 
no German author expressed exultation louder than 
Wordsworth's, when grand disaster attended the inva- 
sion of Russia. The Poet would have spring, summer, 



WORDSWORTH. 141 

and autumn all united with himself in singing the praises 
of winter — old decrepit winter ; for, says the Poet, " he 
hath slain that host which rendered all your bounties 
vain." 

This year, 18 13, was for Wordsworth a time of good 
fortune. His claims on the Lowther estate were fairly 
recognized and discharged by his friend and patron the 
Earl of Lonsdale, from whom he received also an ap- 
pointment as Stamp distributor for Westmoreland. He 
then left Grasmere Town End and went to Rydal 
Mount, his home during the last thirty-seven years of 
his life. Another tour in Scotland was made in 18 14, 
and in the same year " The Excursion " appeared. The 
writer challenged hostile criticism by making "a Scot- 
tish Pedlar" the leading speaker in a poem treating of 
religion and philosophy. In form " The Excursion " is 
partly conversational, partly narrative, and some pas- 
sages may be called sermons in blank verse. Of these 
last the opening of the fourth book is the most eloquent 
example. Several passages serve to describe the transi- 
tion made in the author's own political views. In 1798 
" Peter Bell " was written ; but the manuscript attained 
majority before it was sent to the printer in the year 
1 8 19. The story of the poem, when given as a bare 
outline and in prose, may provoke a smile ; but some of 
the author's finest stanzas and most original ideas are 
found in " Peter Bell." A tour on the continent was 
greatly enjoyed by Wordsworth in 1820, and in the 



142 EXGLISH POETS. 

same year appeared a series of Sonnets on " The River 
Duddon." These were followed (in 1822) by "Ecclesi- 
astical Sonnets," an extensive series giving, with some 
meditative passages, the outlines of English Church 
Historj'. 

The thirty-seven years of quiet life at Rydal Mount 
seem monotonous, when reviewed in this summary. But 
their course was varied and often made cheerful by con- 
genial society, and by correspondence with such friends 
as Southey, Coleridge, and Lamb — to say nothing of 
many names less known in literature. In his apparent 
seclusion from the world, the Poet was not left alone, for 
his own powers of mind peopled the solitude. In the 
gossip of common-place persons he found no recreation, 
as the following lines may tell us : — 

" Better than such discourse doth silence long, 
Long, barren silence, square with my desire ; 
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, 
In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, 
And listen to the flapping of the flame, 
Or kettle whispering its low undersong." 

In the course of five years following 1830, death called 
away several literary friends : — Scott, Crabbe, Coleridge, 
Lamb, Mrs. Hemans, and " the Ettrick Shepherd." 
After 1840 the shades of life's evening were gathering at 
Rydal Mount. Failure of sight, long ago foreboded, 
gradually diminished one of the Poet's chief sources of 
enjoyment. When he wandered forth among the dales, 



WORDSWORTH. 143 

he was compelled to wear a shade of green gauze over 
his eyes. He found it irksome to write many letters, 
and sometimes referred to failing sight as the source of 
defects in his handwriting, described by himself as " vile 
.at the best," though it was not careless. That apology 
was made in 1841, when the Poet addressed to a young 
man who wrote verses a note containing these words : 
" I cannot, with a sincere care for your welfare, advise 
you to bestow on your poetry such care and labour as 
have been expended on my own." One of the sorrows 
of Wordsworth's last ten years was the mental affliction 
that fell upon his friend, Robert Southey, in 1840. He 
was then incapable of making any use of that library 
in which he had for many years found a world of delight ; 
but he would still take down one book after another, 
"patting them with both hands, like a child." In 1843, 
when Southey was released from " death called life," 
Wordsworth was made Poet-Laureate. A pension placed 
him in easy circumstances, and increasing fame made 
some compensation for about forty years of neglect and 
contempt. But these rewards came late, and about the 
time when shades of sorrow darkened the Poet's home. 
Of these one was the painful death of his daughter 
Dora, which took place in 1847. Not long afterwards, 
the Poet's friend, Hartley Coleridge, "the gray-headed 
young man " who had lived at Knab Scar, near Rydal 
Mount, died. The sorrows of his life had been clearly 
predicted by Wordsworth, in some verses written when 



144 ENGLISH POETS. 

Hartley was a playful child, only six years old. A re- 
markable instance of prevision ! 

William Wordsworth died on the 23rd day of 
April, 1850. His remains were interred in Grasmere 
churchyard. His widow, who some years before her 
death was afflicted with loss of sight, died in 1859. 

Wordsworth's personal appearance, on ordinary occa- 
sions, was more expressive of thought, self-control, and 
repose than of poetic genius. He was temperate, was a 
lover of pedestrian exercise, and generally enjoyed good 
health. When failing sight compelled him to wear a 
shade over his eyes, the best trait in his face was 
eclipsed. In earlier years his eyes, at times when he 
talked earnestly, recited poetry or came home from one 
of his long walks, shone with a remarkably clear light, 
and his ordinary aspect was then almost forgotten. In 
this respect he was like Sir Walter Scott, whose face 
would be suddenly lit up when he recited some old 
ballad. The main traits in Wordsworth's character are 
faithfully given in his poetry. In politics he was a Con- 
servative, and he was a zealous advocate of national 
education. He liked neither railways nor factories, and 
he thought that some so-called " laws " of political 
economy were ill-founded and harshly enforced. To 
appease discontent among working men and end the 
strife between capital and labour, he recommended, as 
long ago as in 1835, some plans like those now called 
" co-operative." 



WORDSWORTH. i45 

His care for the interests of social and political life 
reminds us that Wordsworth was one of several remark- 
able men born in 1770, or about that time. Among 
them are found the names— Chateaubriand, Coleridge, 
Fichte, Hegel, Schelling, Schlegel, Southey, and Stef- 
fens. All were old enough in 1792 to be moved by the 
events of the time, and their thoughts were more or less 
directed to social, political, and religious questions. They 
were not abstract or special men, as artists, or as poets, 
or as philosophers ; but had an earnest care for the 
whole of human life, and, in their several modes, they 
endeavoured to connect their own ideas with practical 
interests. Southey, for example, who wrote the wild 
tale of " Thalaba," wrote also a book on " The Progress 
of Society ;" and Wordsworth, who wrote sonnets " on 
the River Duddon," wrote also a tract on the " Poor Law 
Amendment Act." It is obvious that these men of wide 
sympathies thus made their own peculiar culture more 
difficult than it might otherwise have been if each had 
rested content within his own limits, as a poet, or as a 
philosopher. Such men should not be judged by refe- 
rence to any narrow rule. Some defects of culture, 
especially in their several styles of writing, may be 
ascribed to the expansion of their sympathies. It is, of 
course, more difficult to give high finish to a large than 
to a small picture. 

The nineteenth century has produced poets, and other 
imaginative and ideal writers, who, with regard to their 
U 



146 ENGLISH POETS. 

expansion of thought and sympathy, arc not approached 
by any writers of an earlier time. In some minor re- 
spects, it might seem strange to place together such 
names as Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Thomas Car- 
lyle, and Charles Kingsley ; but, as men endowed with 
poetic genius, wide sympathy and an earnest desire for 
the welfare of mankind, all belong to one class. One 
defect, hardly avoidable, their want of artistic limitation, 
is more or less noticeable in many of their writings, and 
may be mainly ascribed to their breadth of sympathy. 
It is quite true that Wordsworth produced some beauti- 
fully finished poems, especially sonnets ; but it is also 
true that he sometimes wrote pieces that may be fairly 
described as sermons in verse. 

Wordsworth's aim was to give in verse all the best 
results of his own meditations " on man, on nature, and 
on human life," and, as he says in other words, to lead 
onward to a great transition, or revolution, in the thoughts 
of mankind. He therefore treats, in his own style, 
several important questions, respectively belonging to 
social science, politics, and religion. His political views 
have already been noticed. His religious sentiments are 
mostly well expressed in his poetry. He disliked both 
rationalism and controversy, and did not believe that 
religion could be founded, like practical mensuration, on 
" the calculating understanding " — " the proudest faculty 
of our nature," as he called it. He did not find, as 
others might, any disparity between his natural theology 



WORDSWORTH. 147 

and his Christian Creed, and hardly knew what men 
were talking about when they ascribed " a pantheistic 
tendency " to some passages in his poetry. True ; he 
represented in " The Excursion " his " Wanderer " as re- 
ceiving, by intuition and from the contemplation of 
nature, some religious sentiments, especially gratitude ; 
but that " Wanderer's " character, we are told, was based 
on a strictly Christian education : — 

" The Scottish Church, both on himself and those 
With whom from childhood he grew up, had held 
The strong hand of her purity, and still 
Had watched him with an unrelenting eye." 

That Wordsworth regarded with approbation some 
modes of worship called " ritualistic " cannot be doubted. 
To these he refers in many passages, of which the follow- 
ing is one example : — 

" Alas, the sanctities combined 

By art, to unsensualize the mind, 

Decay and languish ; or, as creeds 

And humours change, are spurned like weeds : 

The priests are from their altars thrust ; 

Temples are levelled with the dust ; 

And solemn rites and awful forms 

Founder amid fanatic storms." 

With respect to philosophy, Wordsworth's general 
notions were Platonic ; but he had no method, and did 
not attempt to reduce his ideas to any systematic form. 
Of all these ideas he made most prominent that of which 
he gives the poetry in an Ode written in 1803-6. Of this 



148 ENGLISH POETS. 

Ode — " Intimations of Immortality from Recollections 
of Early Childhood " — the first idea belongs to Plato ; 
but the imagery belongs to the Poet. He includes under 
the name "heaven" all that Plato said of the soul's 
primeval life. To this " heaven " the Poet ascribes the 
spiritual light of which even a faint shining is on earth 
called genius or inspiration. Of that light men retain 
only some faint rays, such as have escaped eclipse. The 
original light is an eastern radiance, to which souls are 
near in childhood, and from which they recede, as in 
later life they travel on toward the West : — 

" Heaven lies about us in our infancy! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length, the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day." 

There is more originality in another image introduced 
to represent the same idea. The primeval life is now 
the Eternal Ocean out of which souls are cast forth on 
the shore of Time. While they dwell, as children, on 
the shore, they hear the music of the deep ; but it dies 
away for them as they grow older, or, to use the poet's 
figure, as they travel farther "inland." Still, in ''calm 



WORDSWORTH. 149 

weather," when the winds [of earthly passions] are sleep- 
ing, the souls of men have a vision of the sea and hear 
its music : — 

" Hence, in a season of calm weather, 

Though inland far we be, 
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea 

Which brought us hither, 

Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." 

Is Wordsworth "a great Poet"? Since the time 
of his death, the voices that answer "Yes " have steadily 
increased in number. Critics have truly said, that all 
poetry must be divided into three classes : — lyrical, epic, 
and dramatic. Wordsworth wrote excellent ballads and 
some longer stories in verse ; but he can hardly be 
called a great epic poet, and his genius was not dra- 
matic. His best poetry is lyrical and reflective. The 
question may be raised — " Is lyrical-reflective poetry to 
be included in the first of the three classes already 
named "t " In other words, may the acceptation of the 
term " lyrical " be extended, so as to include all imagi- 
native productions of thought and feeling when they 
possess the traits originality, individuality, sympathy, 
and are, moreover, associated with harmonious forms of 
diction } If this more extended definition of " lyrical " 
is rejected, a great deal of what the world has accepted 
for good poetry must be rejected. But if the class 
" lyrical " includes lyrical-reflective productions, then in 



ISO ENGLISH POETS. 

this class WORDSWORTH is one of our greatest poets. 
With regard to his originahty, his purity of diction, in 
famihar as in elevated forms of expression, the truth of 
imagery found in his poems, their meditative pathos, sub- 
limity of imagination, and playfulness of fancy, — in all 
these respects his merits have hardly yet received due 
acknowledgment. His verse, though on the whole har- 
monious, has not always the perfect music found in the 
best lyrical poems of Collins, Burns, Coleridge, Moore, 
and Tennyson. But with some of Wordsworth's true 
sonnets, only two or three written by Milton can be 
compared. To show that such praise is not too high, 
it is enough to refer to one sonnet beginning with the 
words, " The world is too much with us," or to the fol- 
lowing sonnet, "composed on Westminster Bridge," in 
the early morn of September 3rd, 1802 : — 

" Earth has not anything to show more fair : 

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 

A sight so touching in its majesty : 

This City now doth, like a garment, wear 

The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 

Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; 

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air, 

Never did sun more beautifully steep 

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ; 

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 

The river glideth at his own sweet will : 

Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 

And all that mighty heart is lying still I " 



WORDSWORTH. 151 

The most frequent of all defects found in the Poet's 
versification, is the use of an unaccented syllable instead 
of a true rhyme. This error is found in the writings of 
other poets ; but it is especially noticeable as a blemish 
in some of Wordsworth's sonnets, on which he bestowed 
great care. The moral and intellectual elements of his 
poetry may now be more distinctly noticed. 

" Poetry," says a critic, " consists in the fine perception, 
the vivid expression of that subtle and mysterious 
analogy which exists between the physical and the 
moral world." This general notion, though incomplete, 
truly defines some of the finest passages in Words- 
worth's writings. Here the joys and the sorrows of 
human life are marvellously blended and interfused with 
the surrounding life of nature. The Poet is like a 
painter who sets before us a human family, painted in 
tones that harmonize with those of a surrounding land- 
scape. One feeling pervades the whole picture. This 
first and chief trait — the union of conscious with uncon- 
scious life— belongs to the Poet's intense love of the 
earth, his dwelling-place. He is not alone when left 
without human society; but is conscious that in his 
solitude he is " one among many," as he says in " The 
Excursion :" — 

. . . " How divine 
The liberty for frail, for mortal man, 
To roam at large among unpeopled glens 
And mountainous retirements, only trod 
By devious footsteps ; regions consecrate 



152 ENGLISH POETS. 

To oldest time ! and reckless of the storm 
That keeps the raven quiet in her nest, 
Be as a presence and a motion — one 
Among the many there." 

The Poet's love of all surrounding life finds objects in 
lowly wild flowers. To him these can give — 

" Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 
He sees, with delight, " a crowd, a host of golden daffo- 
dils," and afterwards — 

" They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude." 

The daisy and the small celandine were two of the 
Poet's favourite flowers, and the foxglove was another. 
He implored botanists not to pluck rare wild flowers, 
and at his request many a tree that had been doomed 
to fall was spared. In his rambles among hills he would 
clamber up the rocks to drop into crevices seeds of trees 
and shrubs, to grow, as he said, " for the good of pos- 
terity." Kindness to animals was another of his traits, 
and of course it is reflected in his writings. The same 
trait is noticeable in Cowper, Burns, Byron and Shelley. 
The sympathy of Wordsworth with creatures less power- 
ful than man, but not made to be tortured, is nobly 
expressed in " Hart Leap Well," especially in these 
lines : — 

" The Being that is in the clouds and air, 
That is in the green leaves among the groves, 
Maintains a deep and reverential care 
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves." 



IVORDS WORTH. 1,-3 

It has been rather too boldly said, there is "nothing" 
dramatic in Wordsworth's poetry ; but it is true that his 
writings contain only slight indications of dramatic 
genius. His stories introduce a few life-like characters, 
but these belong to a comparatively simple class. Each 
represents mostly one sentiment, or is made more dis- 
tinct by a union or a contrast of two qualities. Thus 
" Margaret " (in " The Excursion ") is, at one time, a 
woman in whose life " love and peace " are united, and, 
at a later time, she is a model of patience. There is 
some individuality in the sketch of " Matthew," the vil- 
lage schoolmaster, who was a lover of boyish "fun," and, 
at the .same time, was capable of profound thought : — 

" The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs 
Of one tired out with fun and madness; 

The tears which came to Matthew's eyes 
Were tears of hght, the dew of gladness. 

" Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup 
Of still and serious thought went round. 

It seemed as if he drank it up — 
He felt with spirit so profound." 

Other examples of individuality in sketches of cha- 
racter may be found in the sixth and seventh books of 
" The Excursion ;" but for an example of more graphic 
portraiture we must turn to " Peter Bell " : — 

" How one wife could e'er come near him 
In simple truth I cannot tell ; 
for be it said of Peter Bell, 
To see liim was to fear him. 
X 



154 ENGLISH POETS. 

"A savage wildness round him hung, 

As of a dweller out of doors ; 

In his whole figure and his mien 

A savage character was seen 

Of mountains and of dreary moors. 

"To all the unshaped, half-human thoughts 

Which solitary Nature feeds, 

'Mid summer storms or winter's ice, 

Had Peter joined whatever vice 

The cruel city breeds. 

" There was a hardness in his cheek, 
There was a hardness in his eye, 
As if the man had fixed his face, 
In many a solitary place, 
Against the wind and open sky. 

" He roved among the vales and streams. 
In the green wood and hollow dell; 
They were his dwellings night and day — 
But Nature ne'er could find the way 
Into the heart of Peter Bell. 

" In vain, through every changeful year. 
Did Nature lead him as before; 
A primrose by a river's brim 
A yellow primrose was to him 
And it was nothing more. 

" At noon when, by the forest's edge 
He lay beneath the branches high, 
The soft blue sky did never melt 
Into his heart ; he never felt 
The witchery of the soft blue sky." 

Wordsworth's sketches of women are often beautiful ; 
but are mostly like portraits of angels. Three examples 



WORDSIVOKTI/. 155 

of this class may be found in " The Triad." Of love the 
Poet writes mostly in a calm and meditative tone, but a 
remarkable exception is seen in the story of " Vaudra- 
cour and Julia." Stories of love betrayed are often as 
commonplace as they are sad ; but no commonplace can 
be found in " Ruth," a poem in which fine imagery is 
blended with emotion. In " Laodamia " love is treated 
in a tone that may be called severe; but the poem in- 
cludes some noble passages. Wordsworth did not — like 
too many poets who " harp upon one string" — treat with 
neglect such beautiful themes as parental, filial, and 
fraternal love. 

A few words might be added on the author's more 
distinctly religious poems ; but in truth the whole strain 
of his poetry is religious. No poet has ever written 
with more reverential feeling ; none has ever expressed 
more earnestly a love of peace, reconciliation, and har- 
mony. His poetry belongs to two worlds which, in his 
view, are not separated from each other. He finds, even 
in this transitory life, some expressions of — 

. . . " central peace, subsisting at the heart 
Of endless agitation." 

He sheds over this present life the light of immor- 
tality, and speaks of " the sublime attractions of the 
grave." The Poet's duty, as understood by Words- 
worth, is not to excite, but to quell the storms of passion. 
The love on which he mostly loves to dwell is — 

. . . " such love as Spirits feel 
In woilds whose course is equable and pure.'" 



156 ENGLISH POETS. 

Such poetry as Wordsworth produced does not build 
cloud-palaces and people the sky with dreams, but dwells 
among men ; soothes, relieves, and, if possible, banishes 
their cares, and elevates their pleasures ; clothes every- 
day life in hues of imagination, and makes religion at 
once venerable and domestic. Of no man can we say 
more truly than of Wordsworth, that his writings and 
his life are inseparable. His poetry is a confession, and 
describes his own experience. The biography of " The 
Wanderer " is partly the story of the Poet's own educa- 
tion. One passage in that story may serve to conclude 
this essay : — 

" O then what soul was his when, on the tops 

Of the high mountains, he beheld the sun 

Rise up, and bathe the world in light ! He look'd — 

Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth 

And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay 

In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touch'd, 

And in their silent faces did he read 

Unutterable love. Sound needed none, 

Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank 

The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form 

All melted into him; they swallow'd up 

His animal being; in them did he live, 

And by them did he live : they were his life. 

In such access of mind, in such high hour 

Of visitation from the living God, 

Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. 

No thanks he breathed, he proffer'd no request ; 

Rapt into still communion that transcends 

The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, 

His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power 

That made him ; it was blessedness and love ! " 




SCOTT. 




ALTER SCOTT, son of Walter Scott, a 
writer to the Signet, was born in Edin- 
^^T^Mv^ burgh, on the 15th of August, 177 1. During 
'^'i!^.^! his boyhood, lameness attended with frail 
health made him sometimes a hermit, and led to a love 
of reading. While other boys were studying Latin 
grammar, he enjoyed, at Kelso, a long holiday made 
delightful by reading Percy's " Reliques of Ancient Eng- 
lish Poetry." He afterwards passed through the High 
School and University of his native place, studied law, 
and in his twenty-first year was admitted a member of 
the Society of Advocates. Meanwhile his health became 
robust ; but the lameness of the right leg remained for 
life. 

The freedom enjoyed by Scott during youth made 
possible the herculean exploits of his later life. After his 
call to the bar, law-studies partly engaged his attention ; 



158 ENGLISH POETS. 

but he was active as one of the cavalry officers in a band 
of volunteers. In "Marmion" he refers to his jovial 
hours in the mess-room, and to all the pleasures of a 
time when he studied German poetry and translated 
Burger's " Leonora." 

In 1797 Scott married Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, 
a lady of French parentage, and soon afterwards he 
obtained the appointment of Sheriff of Selkirkshire, 
worth ;^300 per annum. The leisure afforded by this 
office was partly employed in making tours, for the 
purpose of collecting the old popular ballads which 
appeared, in 1802-3, under the title " Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border." About the same time the Poet found 
a charm in the old style of versification of which Cole- 
ridge had given a specimen in " Christabel." This old 
style (by error called "new") was adopted by Scott in 
his " Lay of the Last Minstrel," a Border Romance, 
published in 1805. Its popularity was marvellous, and 
the author was hailed as one who had suddenly dis- 
covered a new world of epic poetry. Of its traditions 
and its scenery he had been an enthusiastic student. 
Meanwhile, he had also studied well, and with sym- 
pathy, the histories of Jacobite families implicated in 
the movement of 1745. Of this he intended to give 
some description in a prose romance called "Waver- 
ley." About seven chapters were written in 1805 ; then 
the work failed to please the writer, and he laid aside 
the manuscript in a desk where he kept fishing-tackle. 



SCOTT. 159 

The success of the " Lay " encouraged the Poet, and 
in 1808 he produced " Marmion," a tale of Flodden 
Field. This is a metrical romance more ambitious than 
the first, and contains some fine specimens of graphic 
narration. The hero — a creature of fiction, having no 
connection with the old Marmion family of West Tan- 
field — was described by Byron as — 

" Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight." 

"Marmion" was followed by a more popular romance, 
" The Lady of the Lake," which was published in 18 10, 
and was generally accepted as the best of the author's 
poems. Its adventures have variety and its scenery is 
picturesque. Scott never wrote in verse anything more 
energetic than the fifth canto, in which he describes the 
duel of the Gael and the Saxon. In the course of the 
years 1811-14 appeared " Rokeby," of which the scenery 
is English, and " The Lord of the Isles," a story of 
Bruce and of the battle of Bannockburn. Among several 
later writings in verse none can be compared with 
" Marmion," or with " The Lady of the Lake." After 
the great success of 18 10, Scott's popularity was quietly 
waning ; but no formidable rival appeared before the 
year 1812, when Byron published the first two cantos 
of his "Childe Harold," which were soon followed by 
his oriental stories. Then Scott wisely turned away 
from verse writing to prose fiction. He brought out, 
from their hiding-place among fishing-tackle, the seven 



i6o ENGLISH POETS. 

chapters of " Waverley," and completed the story, which 
was pubhshed in 1814, the year in which Wordsworth's 
"Excursion" and Byron's "Corsair" appeared. The 
splendid success of " Waverley," to which the author did 
not prefix his name, made him resolute in wearing a 
mask, though to Scottish literary men, endowed with 
keen insight, it soon became transparent. In the course 
of the two years 181 5-16 he published — without giving 
his name — " Guy Mannering," " The Antiquary," and 
" Old Mortality." Of these three stories the second and 
the third are classed with the author's best works. The 
second reveals some fine traits in his own character. 
The third is full of energy and contains many bold con- 
trasts of character and situation. 

Meanwhile, a series of successes, hardly interrupted by 
any serious failure, during the ten years 1805-16, served 
more and more to excite ambition. Scott would win 
something more than a poet's fame. He would be one 
of the proprietors of the land he loved so well, and would 
found a family holding a good position among the aristo- 
cracy of Scotland. To attain this end he entered into 
partnership with an enterprising friend who was a 
printer, and a series of bold speculations in a publishing 
business soon followed. By combining authorship with 
commercial enterprise, the Poet hoped to make himself 
owner of a considerable landed estate. If any poet 
might have success in such an undertaking, Scott was 
surely the man. But the commercial world demands 



SCOTT. i6i 

the service of an undivided heart ; the devotion of a 
whole Hfe. If men who think of nothing else often fail 
in striving to gain wealth, what can a poet do ? For 
some years Fortune smiled on Scott's great enterprise, 
and in 1811 he began making preparations for building 
Abbotsford — " his romance in stone and mortar." First 
of all, he bought a hundred acres of moorland near 
Melrose, on the banks of the Tweed. Then followed 
more extensive purchases of land, expenditure for drain- 
ing, building, planting, and gardening, and in the midst 
of a considerable estate arose, at last, the baronial resi- 
dence of Abbotsford — a marvellous realization of the 
Poet's day-dream ! Here, in his mansion near the Tweed, 
it was his delight to entertain visitors of all classes : — 
princes, peers, lawyers, soldiers, poets, and literary men. 
How was it possible that he could still be adding volume 
to volume in his long series of novels and romances "> 
His habit of early rising solves the problem. For study 
and writing he still reserved some quiet hours in the 
morning. For the rest of the day his sole care was to 
entertain his guests and to make his own family happy. 

In 181 5 Scott visited France, and in London was in- 
troduced to his young rival. Lord Byron, who at that 
time was idolized. He had satirized the author of 
" Marmion ;" but that was all forgotten. They met 
each other with feelings of cordial friendship. Subse- 
quently, when the days of idolatry had passed away, 
Scott said all that he could in defence of his rival, and 
V 



i62 ENGLISH POETS. 

Byron always spoke with fraternal kindness when he 
named Scott, whom he sometimes playfully called 
" Watty." Of all the praise bestowed on the Waverley 
novels and romances, Byron's was the highest. He said 
that, when he read them, they made him long to be a 
good man. 

In 1818 "Old Mortality" was followed by "Rob Roy," 
a defective story enlivened with novel contrasts of cha- 
racter, and in the same year appeared " The Heart of 
Mid-Lothian," of which the heroine, Jeanie Deans, is 
immortal. Then followed " The Bride of Lammermoor," 
remarkable for its prevalent tragic tones. " Coming 
events " cast over the opening scenes shadows that grow 
darker as the story approaches its conclusion, A splen- 
did work of fiction, founded on English history and 
called " Ivanhoe," appeared in 1820, the year in which 
the author was made a baronet. In " Ivanhoe " the 
portraiture of a Jewish Maiden was evidently " a labour 
of love." " I think I shall make something of my 
Jewess," said Scott, when talking with the friend to 
whom a part of the romance was dictated. " You will, 
indeed," replied his friend ; " and I cannot help saying, 
that you are doing an immense good. Sir Walter, by 
such sweet and noble tales ; for the young people now 
will never bear to look at the vile trash of novels that 
used to be in the circulating libraries," Sir Walter's 
eyes filled with tears. Though he had gained by 
" Ivanhoe " great popularity in England, he found in his 



SCOTT. 163 

native land the subjects of his next two stories, "The 
Monastery" and "The Abbot." The former was re- 
garded as a failure ; the latter was made attractive by a 
portraiture of Maria Stuart. The character of her rival, 
Queen Elizabeth, was delineated in " Kenilworth," a 
story animated with dramatic interest and enriched with 
picturesque descriptions. Fresh scenery was introduced 
in " The Pirate," in which the fair sisters Minna and 
Brenda appeared. From the Shetland Isles, the author, 
in his next story, led his readers away to London and 
to the Court of James the First, whose character is de- 
scribed in "The Fortunes of Nigel." This novel was 
soon followed by " Peveril of the Peak," and " Quentin 
Durward." The latter, founded on French history, in- 
troduces the characters of Louis the Eleventh and 
Charles the Bold. The love-story included in the work 
is told wdth admirable reserve and good taste. In the 
course of the years 1823-6, Scott produced, besides the 
two last-named, five works of fiction : — " St. Ronan's 
Well," " Redgauntlet," "The Betrothed," "The Talis- 
man," and " Woodstock." 

For all his enormous amount of work, the author re- 
ceived paynient mostly in the shape of bills, having 
value dependent on the success of the firm in which he 
was a partner. While speculations failed one after 
another, and losses became more and more serious, he 
still hoped that hard work might overcome all financial 
difficulties. Then came the disastrous years 1825-6. 



i64 ENGLISH POETS. 

The bold schemes of preceding years then ended in a 
general wreck, involving the firm to which Scott be- 
longed. He was responsible, in 1826, for a debt amount- 
ing to ;^ 1 17,000. Refusing to make any composition 
with creditors, he prayed only for time, that he might 
work out his own liberation. Retiring to quiet lodgings 
in Edinburgh, he there devoted himself to a series of 
literary tasks of which only a few can be noticed here. 
These include annotations and introductions for a new 
edition of his novels and romances ; a " History of Scot- 
land ;" " The Fair Maid of Perth," " Anne of Geier- 
stein," and the two inferior stories, " Count Robert of 
Paris," and " Castle Dangerous " — both written when 
health of body and mind was broken down. Of all the 
drudgery, the most severe was writing a work of little 
value — the " Life of Napoleon," which filled nine 
volumes. During the last five years of his life, Scott 
worked like Hercules and like a galley-slave. He won 
the victory ; but it cost the victor's life, and it might be 
said that he was crowned at the moment when he fell 
exhausted. In 1830 he resolutely went on working, 
though a stroke of paralysis had warned him that the 
end must be near. In the following year he was per- 
suaded to go and rest awhile at Naples ; but it was too 
late. A few days before his departure for Italy, he was 
visited by Wordsworth, with whom he took a walk along 
the banks of the Yarrow. At that time he could still 
call to mind, with pleasure, some lines in old ballads ; 



SCOTT. 165 

but his mind was incapable of sustained effort. In con- 
versation he would begin a story well ; but before he 
reached the point, he would stop and look around him 
" with the blank anxiety of look that a blind man has, 
when he has dropped his staff." When he returned 
from Italy, in the summer of 1832, there was no hope of 
his life. He was brought home to die at Abbotsford. 
There, soon after noon on the 21st of September, he 
breathed his last. " It was a beautiful day, so warm 
that every window was wide open, and so perfectly still, 
that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear 
— the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles — was 
distinctly audible" in the chamber where his children 
were kneeling beside his bed.^ 

So mighty had been the efforts made by Scott in the 
sublime task of paying his debts that, when he died and 
his life assurances were realized, he left undischarged 
only a debt of ;^30,ooo. For this the copyright of his 
novels and romances supplied abundant means of pay- 
ment. Mr. Cadell, the publisher who, by accepting as 
his own the remaining debt, gained possession of the 
whole copyright, died in 1849, leaving for his family a 
fortune of i^ 100,000. Since that time several extensive 
and some remarkably cheap editions of the novels and 
romances have appeared. Their popularity has already 
lasted for more than half a century. 

' " Life of Sir Walter Scott," by J. G. Lockhart. 



i66 ENGLISH POETS. 

In youth Scott's personal appearance was, in spite of 
his lameness, eminently manly, and indicated such health 
and strength as, in the olden time, might have made him 
a comrade of moss-troopers. The circumference of his 
head was comparatively small ; but the brow had a 
noble elevation. In his later years he had, when un- 
excited, a placid expression that might otherwise be 
called grave or pensive ; but when he was talking of 
legendary lore, or reciting some old ballad, his face 
would be suddenly lighted up in a remarkable manner. 
His smile expressed the kindness of his heart, and his 
love of playful and humorous conversation. 

To estimate the wealth of Scott's genius, the formal 
distinction of prose and verse must be set aside. His 
novels, romances, and metrical writings must all be 
viewed as a series of narrative or epic poems. He ex- 
tended widely the range of prose fiction, and gave to it 
the enthusiasm and dignity of true poetry. Some of the 
finest passages in his romances — for example, the sea- 
side storm in " The Antiquary" — have been called " de- 
scriptive ;" but they contain something better than cold 
description. They are at once graphic and narrative, 
and blend human interest and emotion with surrounding 
aspects of nature. There is life and vivid expression in 
Scott's landscapes, as in his so-called "historical pic- 
tures." He gives animation to the old and faded portraits 
of history. He draws aside the veil of antiquity, and 
sets before us in daylight the institutions of feudalism. 



w 



SCOTT. 167 

His world of the olden time is peopled by men repre- 
senting all ranks in society. With regard to the number 
of his creations and to the versatility of his imagina- 
tive power, he claims near relationship with Shakespeare, 
to whom he is inferior in depth and in appeals to the 
heart. 

Setting aside comparison with Milton — whose great 
ork is unique, and mostly belongs to a supernatural 
world— Scott may be called an epic poet without a rival 
in English literature ; but there are many defects in his 
works. His plots are often incomplete, and otherwise 
liable to censure. They cannot for a moment be compared 
with the construction of Fielding's great novel. Of the 
stories written by Scott several move on too slowly in the 
beginning, and are too hastily brought to a conclusion. 
The rapid succession of accidents leading to the close of 
" Rob Roy" may be fairly called ludicrous. The author's 
prose style is by no means polished, and, while his verse 
is expressive of freedom and vigour, its melody cannot 
rival the music of Moore and Tennyson. Such terse and 
happy expressions ; such lines never to be forgotten as 
we find often in Wordsworth, are rarely found in Scott's 
poetry. But these and other formal defects are almost 
forgotten when we turn to notice the essential elements 
of his writings. Accepted as a whole, they give us, in- 
directly, a true confession of his own character. His 
choice of subjects; the themes on which he loves to 
dwell ; his indirect yet clear indications of love and 



i68 ENGLISH POETS. 

aversion ; these and other traits make it a wonder that 
Scott could ever be called "the Great Unknown." The 
first half-dozen of his novels told the world that the 
author must be a lawyer, an antiquary, a poet, a hu- 
mourist, and (in sympathy) a Jacobite. 

Of all his traits the most prominent is strong nation- 
ality. There never lived a poet who loved more dearly 
than Scott his native land. The one great sorrow of his 
life — the wreck of his fortune — was closely associated 
with that love of Scotland, to which he gave expression 
in his " Lay :" — 

" By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, 
Though none should guide my feeble way ; 
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, 
Although it chill my withered cheek ; 
Still lay my head by Teviot stone, 
Though there, forgotten and alone, 
The bard may draw his parting groan." 

Like Wordsworth, Byron, and Shelley, the author of 
"Waverley" extended his sympathies toward creatures 
placed lower than man in Nature's scale. But his 
general love of old modes of life included an imaginative 
delight in the chase, over which he could cast the spell 
of his poetry, as may be seen in the most popular of his 
metrical romances. His love of old feasts and festivals, 
with all their mirth and their good cheer, is made evi- 
dent in many passages of prose and verse ; for one ex- 
ample a few lines from " Marmion " may be given : — 



SCOTT. 169 

" There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
Nor failed old Scotland to produce, 
At such high tide, her savoury goose. 
Then came the merry masquers in, 
And carols roared with blithesome din ; 
If unmelodious was the song. 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 

England was merry England, when 

Old Christmas brought his sports again. 

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 

The poor man's heart through half the year." 

Scott's admiration of chivalry and valour led him to 
disguise, with hues of imaginative splendour, the horrors 
of warfare ; the sad spectacle of " men arrayed for mu- 
tual slaughter." The greater part of military history 
has been described as " nothing better than a story of 
deer hunted down by tigers." Scott could hardly accept 
such a stern definition. One of his finest narrative pas- 
sages is the Battle of Flodden, and another is the duel 
of Fitz-James and Roderic Dhu. But it was the Poet's 
imagination, not his heart, that found pleasure in de- 
scribing the pomp, the splendour, and the excitement of 
battles. His own serious thoughts on warfare are here 
and there expressed ; for example, in the third canto of 
" Rokeby :" — 

" Ev'n tiger fell and sullen bear 
Their likeness and their linenge spare. 
Man only mars kind Nature's plan. 
And turns the fierce pursuit on man." 
Z 



I70 ENGLISH POETS. 

Scott's aim was to afford intellectual recreation to the 
widest possible circle of readers ; but he would not use 
unworthy means of exciting "sensational" interest. He 
introduces characters of all kinds, except the best and 
the worst ; in other words, he describes neither saints 
nor demons. He casts the light of poetry and the glow 
of kindness over stories of virtue in lowly life. The 
reserve, respect, and good taste of his love stories show 
that " he w^ore, without abuse," 

" The grand old name of gentleman." 

He liked to ascribe some good traits to the worst of 
the characters whom he described. One of the hardest 
of villains is represented as faithful in some of his deal- 
ings. The " lock of hair" and "the verses " preserved as 
relics by Bothwell show that he cherished one memorial 
of pure love. " Rob Roy" is too good, in some respects, 
to be utterly denounced. Scott had a profound respect 
for rights of property ; but he could discover some 
good traits in moss-troopers and other marauders. The 
kindness generally expressed in his writings was " the 
master-current " of his own heart. A volume might be 
filled with true stories of his good actions. He knew 
nothing of envy, but found delight in praising men who 
might be called his rivals. He admired Crabbe's poems, 
and always spoke kindly of Byron. When Wilson, as a 
candidate for the chair of moral philosophy, was censured 
on account of some jovial passages in his youth, Scott 



SCOTT. 171 

came forward to defend him. Irving, author of " The 
Sketch-Book," was at one time greatly indebted to 
Scott. He gained for two of Allan Cunningham's 
sons cadetships in the Indian Service. For examples 
of Scott's kindness and good judgment in criticism, 
we may refer to his commendation of the novels 
written by Maria Edgeworth, Jane Austen, and Mary 
Ferrier. 

One of the oldest of mediaeval romances divides itself 
into two parts. The first is all worldly and military, 
and seems to have no moral aim. The other part is 
unearthly and ascetic. In quest of sanctity, the hero 
resigns a kingdom and all the splendours of chivalry. 
He goes forth to endure privation and solitude, in order 
to find his way to Heaven. Earth and Heaven, religion 
and life, are thus represented as separate. With such a 
stern and ascetic mood of piety Scott had no sympathy. 
His views of life and society were mostly cheerful, 
hopeful, and charitable. If that day-dream of building 
Abbotsford had not disturbed his peace, he would have 
been one of the happiest of all men dwelling in the land 
he loved so well. 

'• He is not dead, but lives for Scotland still — 
One of her Guardian Powers ; an unseen band, 
Who spread their influence o'er their native land. 
There, over pastoral dale and purple hill. 

On healthy moor and rocky height, 

On many a glen, and winding stream. 



172 SCOTT. 

(So wild in -yvinter's fitful gleam, 
In summer noon so calm and bright !) 
On ruined shrines and castle walls, 
The splendour of his genius falls ; 
And on ' the huts where poor men lie ' 
A light is shed that cannot die." 





BYRON. 




EORGE GORDON, Lord Byrox, was born 
in London on the 22nd of January, 1788. 
Soon after his birth, his mother, forsaken by 
her husband, returned to her native land and 
Hved in Aberdeen ; afterwards at Ballater, on the Dee, 
where the boy was introduced to the wild scenes on 
which the mountain Loch-na-Garr looks down. In his 
eleventh year he returned to England, and for some time 
lived with his mother at Nottingham and at Southwell. 
His early education was often interrupted by his lame- 
ness, or rather by a series of useless and painful attempts 
to cure it. He was handsome in other respects, his dis- 
position was adventurous, and he was a lover of youthful 
sports ; but he could seldom forget the painful defect in 
one of his feet that made him lame. It was one chief 
source of that discontent by which, at last, a profound 
alteration was made in his character. Though his studies 



174 ENGLISH POETS. 

were irregular, he read many books of history and poetry. 
When he was fourteen years old he was sent to Harrow. 
At that school, and afterwards at Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge, his reading was extensive, while his routine-studies 
were pursued in a desultory manner. Meanwhile he 
wrote, now and then, verses, including the poems which, 
under the title of " Hours of Idleness," were published at 
Newark in 1807. " The poesy of this young lord," said 
a harsh critic, " belongs to the class which neither gods 
nor men are said to permit." The rest of the review was 
very severe. In reply, Byron wrote "English Bards and 
Scotch Reviewers " — a satire containing many sayings 
that he was afterwards sorry for. It by no means ex- 
pressed the results of his calm and deliberate judgment. 
In 1809, when the satire appeared, Byron, having at- 
tained majority, took his seat in the House of Lords. 
He seems to have been left at that time in a lonely posi- 
tion. Then followed two years of travel, of which recol- 
lections were given in the splendid verse of " Childe 
Harold's Pilgrimage." Of this two cantos appeared in 
18 12. It was at once made clear that Byron was an 
original poet, and one who — with respect to intense pas- 
sion and fervid eloquence — had no living rival. In the 
course of five years he produced, beside "The Pilgrimage," 
a series of oriental stories, all full of energy, passion, and 
bold imagination ; but, like " Childe Harold," expressing 
too often the writer's own feeling of discontent and lone- 
liness. His popularity was unbounded. As Mr. Dis- 



BYRON. 175 

RAELI has said, " There is no instance in literary records 
of a success so sudden and so lasting as Byron's." The 
general impression made by his genius might be com- 
pared with that of a strong light, here and there over- 
clouded, but often breaking forth with great brilliance in 
the midst of surrounding gloom. The attraction was 
new and powerful. The admiration, the idolatry that 
followed are truly described by Lord Macaulay : — 

" Everything that could stimulate, and everything that 
could gratify the strongest propensities of our nature — 
the gaze of a hundred drawing-rooms, the acclamations 
of the whole nation, the applause of applauded men, the 
love of the loveliest women — all this world and all the 
glory of it were at once offered to a young man to whom 
nature had given violent passions, and whom education 
had never taught to control them. He lived as many 
men live who have no similar excuse to plead for their 
faults. But his countrymen and his countrywomen would 
love him and admire him. They were resolved to see in 
his excesses only the flash and outbreak of that same 
fiery mind which glowed in his poetry." 

The strongest mind might have been thrown down in 
ruins by that excessive hero-worship— so soon followed 
by general reprobation. But Byron's unrest and discon- 
tent were deeply rooted in his own nature. They were 
confirmed, but were not first induced by the errors and 
the contradictions of his life. In Nature herself — some- 
times within the circle of one family, too often in the 



176 ENGLISH POETS. 

soul of an individual — some sad defect is found attending 
an admirable faculty. It may be wholesome to explore 
profoundly and minutely the sources of defect, error, and 
transgression, if that study ends, as it ought to end, in self- 
humiliation. The result is dreadful if it ends in pride. 

In January, i8 15, Byron married Anna Isabella, daugh- 
ter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, a baronet in the county of 
Durham. The Poet's daughter, Ada, was born in De- 
cember, 181 5, and, in the following month, the marriage 
ended in a final separation. Denounced by public 
opinion, Byron left England, travelled on the Rhine and 
in Switzerland, and then went to reside in Venice. There 
some of his associations were such as were called de- 
plorable by his best friends. He wrote in Venice the 
greater part of the fourth canto in " The Pilgrimage," his 
most ideal work ; but there also he began to write verses 
of the burlesque kind for which the Italian author, Berni, 
afforded a model. From the debasement of his Venetian 
life Byron was led away to Ravenna and to Pisa, and 
during his residence at these places (in the time 1820-3) 
his mode of life might be called comparatively quiet. 
For the greater part of that time he lived with the young 
Countess Guiccioli, who had been married to an old and 
wealthy nobleman. 

In the summer of 1823 Byron went to Greece, there 
to close his life by some brave and worthy exploit in the 
war of independence. In January, 1824, he arrived at 
Missolonghi, an unhealthy place, having a position of 
great importance in strategy. Here he soon found him- 



BYRON. 177 

self surrounded by men wanting union and subordination 
to make their patriotic fervour useful. He entertained a 
hope that a first success, won by a resolute attack on 
Lepanto, might serve to unite their forces, scattered here 
and there, and waiting for a leader. He was ready to 
take the post of danger, and to lead on the meditated 
attack ; but hindrances followed. His presence inspired 
confidence, and his conduct — like that of a practical man 
— was worthy of the position he had assumed. The 
Poet was indeed less dreamy than some of his associates. 
He acted with firmness, moderation, and foresight. But 
his hair was grey ; he was in fact an old man ; his friends 
observed that his health — partly ruined by extreme 
abstinence in his diet— was rapidly failing. He rallied 
but faintly, after some attacks of rheumatism and fever, 
following exposure to rain. On the i8th of April he 
became insensible, but said, in the evening, " I must sleep 
now." On the following day he died, aged thirty-seven 
years. To the circumstances attending that early de- 
cease Goethe refers in some pathetic lines, that may be 
thus freely rendered : — 

*' Ah ! — so soon was broken-hearted 

One for earthly glory born ! 
Bloom of youth, so soon departed. 

Left him lonely and forlorn. 
Then at last, when higher thought 

Gave to him a purer will. 
He would something great have wrought— 

Never could that hope fulfil." 
A A 



178. ENGLISH POETS. 

The embalmed remains of Byron were brought to 
England, and were interred in the village church of 
Hucknall-Torkard, where his sister placed a small mural 
tablet sacred to his memory. A statue in marble, com- 
pleted in 1835 by Thorwaldsen, was in 1846 placed in 
the library hall of Trinity College, Cambridge. That 
was a graceful act, for Byron had not always spoken 
kindly of "Alma Mater." In July, 1875, Mr. Disraeli, 
as president of a meeting held in London, spoke elo- 
quently in favour of a plan for erecting, on some public 
site, a statue of Byron. The committee appointed to 
carry out the design, included the names of the poets : 
Tennyson, Bryant, Longfellow, Lord Houghton, and 
Matthew Arnold ; also the names of Earl Stanhope, the 
Earl of Lovelace, and Archdeacon Trollope. 

Byron's writings are closely associated with his life ; 
especially with his travels and his several places of resi- 
dence. The earlier poems are founded partly on recol- 
lections of his boyhood in Scotland ; partly on memories 
of friendships cherished at Harrow, Southwell, and Cam- 
bridge. To the time when the Poet was first idolized 
belong the " Hebrew Melodies," and the oriental stories, 
the "Giaour," the "Bride of Abydos," the "Corsair," 
" Lara," and the " Siege of Corinth." One of his most 
beautiful poems is the " Dream," founded on his love of 
Mary Chaworth, whose destiny was, if possible, more 
deplorable than his own. The third canto of " Childe 
Harold," the drama " Manfred," and the " Lament of 



BYRON. ijq 

Tasso" recall to mind the time when — expelled from 
English society— the author was travelling on the Rhine 
and in Switzerland. During the years 1820-3, when 
Byron was living at Ravenna and Pisa^ he wrote the 
greater part of " Don Juan," the " Prophecy of Dante," 
and the dramas " Sardanapalus," the "Two Foscari," 
" Cain," " Werner," and " The Deformed Transformed." 
In the last year of his life Byron wrote the poem con- 
taining this stanza : — 

" Seek out — less often sought than found— 
A soldier's grave, for thee the best ; 
Then look around, and choose thy ground, 
And take thy rest." 

Of all qualities ascribed to Byron, his eloquence, or 
mastery of the English language, is the most obvious. 
Eloquence gave power to his poetry, and made formida- 
ble the satires and the burlesque and cynical writings of 
which the main purport is nothing better than negation. 
But the whole extent of Byron's influence cannot be 
fairly ascribed to his eloquence, however powerful that 
might be. There was in his genius a deeper source of 
power. The general, pervading tone of his writings is— 
discontent. This word is here used descriptively, and 
implies neither blame nor praise. Stronger words— such 
as "negation," "rebellion," and " despair "—have been 
employed by able critics who have called Byron " the 
poet of the world's sorrow " and " the poet of despair." 
Ris own misery made his song accordant with feelings 



i8o ENGLISH POETS. 

of disappointment and discontent, arising from many 
sources ; especially from the experience attending failures 
in private or in public life. He lived in a time when 
defeat and retrogression followed all the political enter- 
prise and the hopes of men who had dreamed, rather 
wildly, of a glorious future. The general defeat or fiasco 
of liberalism was felt more severely on the continent 
than in England ; consequently, Byron's power was in 
some respects better appreciated in France and Germany 
than in his native land. Men who might not publish in 
any distinct form their own thoughts of freedom, were 
glad to hear clear and strong revolutionary tones in 
Byron's poetry. Many and loud were the echoes awakened 
by those tones. The Poet's voice was like that of a bold 
orator who, for the first time, utters thoughts that many 
other men entertain but dare not express. The mental 
desolation that followed the bold theories called " philo- 
sophy " in the eighteenth century ; the failure of ex- 
travagant hopes that had been excited by the Revolution ; 
the dreary retrogressive policy of the Restoration — these 
were the chief antecedent events by which many minds 
were made ready to hail a poet whose declamation gave 
powerful expression to their own sentiments. His rank 
and personal advantages ; the mystery and controversy 
attending his own character; his defiance of tradition 
and authority ; lastly, his devotion to the cause of 
national freedom in Greece — these attendant circum- 
stances served to increase his influence, but its deeper 



BYRON. iSi 

source was a sympathetic discontent. In France, Spain, 
and Germany, many men who never heard the name of 
Wordsworth, and who knew little more than the name of 
Milton, read with enthusiastic admiration the works of 
Byron, whom they hailed as the greatest poet of the 
nineteenth century. That estimate is still generally 
maintained on the continent. 

In England his poetry was admired, but his scepticism 
excited fear and opposition. Other writers had been 
more resolutely and definitely negative in their treatment 
of religion. Byron was never confirmed in unbelief, but 
was sceptical in the strict sense of the word. For him the 
creed of his native land was a problem, afifording some 
exercise to his inquiring intellect, but giving him neither 
strength nor consolation. For the creed that he would 
not or could not accept he found no substitute. He 
could not see that all things were made clear by natural 
theology, and he had no confidence in any teachings 
of philosophy, excepting one saying : — 

" All that we know is, nothing can be known." 

He sometimes assumed the mood of epicurean indiffer- 
ence, but found in it no rest The playful mockery of 
some poems and some traits in the Poet's character have 
led an able critic to suppose that there could be no earnest- 
ness in Byron's expressions of disappointment, grief, and 
despair. But humour and melancholy may dwell to- 
gether, and pain may be expressed in a smile. Contrasts 



1 82 ENGLISH POETS. 

and contradictions abound in Byron's life as in his 
writings. " Childe Harold " is the ideal and noble ex- 
pression of despair. In " Don Juan " despair, associated 
with wild, lawless humour, leads to a burlesque and 
cynical treatment of life and almost all that belongs to 
it. For such negation of everything save sensuous plea- 
sure there is no defence. GOETHE said that students 
who wished to make themselves masters of the English 
language should translate some cantos of "Don Juan," 
but should take care never to allow any of their transla- 
tions to be published. Goethe was, as all the world 
knows, neither a puritan nor a severe critic, but he con- 
demned the license of Byron's humour. 

Byron's want of respect for tradition and authority 
may be found in the formal characteristics of his poems ; 
but here one remarkable exception should be noticed. 
He accepted as laws of dramatic writing the so-called 
" unities of space and time." In other respects, his love 
of freedom asserted itself in the forms as well as in the 
tendencies of his works. The "Pilgrimage" is a splendid 
imaginative work, but it is hard to say to what class it 
belongs. In one respect it is like the versatile and mock- 
ing poem " Don Juan." Either one or the other of these 
poems might almost anywhere be brought to a close. 
The construction of the dramas is regular, but they want 
dramatic life. Nevertheless they contain some most 
eloquent and powerful passages. Of these the closing 
speech in " Marino Faliero " may be called a terrible ex- 



BVRON. 183 

ample. Among the other dramas, " Werner " was mostly 
borrowed, as the Poet fully acknowledged. " Sardana- 
palus " displays something like growth and evolution in 
the hero's character. In the " Two Foscari," as in some 
other plays, dramatic forms are imposed on poetry that 
should be called lyrical or reflective, and dialogue is em- 
ployed where soliloquy might serve as well. Many 
speeches are introduced that have no connection with the 
evolution of any character, or the progress of any action. 
Byron's best poetical works are lyrical. When he said 
of himself, "description is my forte" there was some 
truth in it ; but he was not a good critic. He was hardly 
conscious of the source whence he derived his strength. 
His best passages may be called lyrical, graphic, and re- 
flective. In these are found " thoughts that breathe and 
words that burn." He makes surrounding landscapes 
reflect his own thoughts ; or finds in external calm and 
storm, in gentle and in violent transitions, expressions of 
his own sentiments. Few passages in his poetry are 
more pleasing than those in which he now and then 
almost forgets himself, and finds repose in solitude where 
he is not alone. He was sometimes unconsciously in- 
debted to " Nature's Priest " — Wordsworth ; but imita- 
tion does not produce such stanzas as these : — 

" To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 



iS4 EXGLISH POETS. 

To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; 
This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroU'd. 

" But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, 
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess. 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen. 
With none v.ho bless us, none whom we can bless ; 
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! 
None that, with kindred consciousness endued. 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ; 
This is to be alone ; this, this is sohtude ! " 

Critics have with good reason used the word "mono- 
tony " when speaking of the too-frequent presentation of 
the Poet's real or — as some writers say — his assumed 
character. " He Avas himself," as Lord Macaulay says, 
with some exaggeration, " the beginning, the middle, and 
the end of all his own poetry — the hero of ever}' tale — the 
chief object in every landscape. Harold, Lara, Manfred, 
and a crowd of other characters, were universally con- 
sidered merely as loose incognitos of Byron ; and there 
is every reason to believe that he meant them to be so 
considered. The wonders of the outer world — the Tagus, 
with the mighty fleets of England riding on its bosom — 
the towers of Cintra overhanging the shaggy forests of 
cork-trees and willows — the glaring marble of Pentelicus 
— the banks of the Rhine — the glaciers of Clarens — the 
sweet lake of Leman — the dell of Egeria, with its sum- 



BVROX. 185 

mer birds and rustling lizards — the shapeless ruins of 
Rome overgrown with ivy and wall-flowers — the stars, 
the sea, the mountains — all were mere accessories — the 
background to one dark and melancholy figure." The 
fault here reproved — monotony or self-repetition — can 
hardly be treated too severely. But it does not spoil 
the landscapes of " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." Here 
there is no want of contrast and variety, of which the 
two following passages are fine examples : — 

" It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near. 
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ; 

" He is an evening reveller, who makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil. 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 

" All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : 
All heaven and earth are still :— From the high host 
B B 



1 86 EXGLJSH POETS. 

Of stars, to the luU'd lake and mountain-coast, 
All is concentred in a life intense, 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost. 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 

Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 

* * * 

" The sky is changed — and such a change ! Oh night. 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 

Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

" And this is in the night :— Most glorious night ! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth. 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth." 

Of the Poet's most energetic style of writing — in pas- 
sages where noble sentiments are united with graphic 
power and fervid eloquence — his stanzas on " Waterloo " 
afford one fine example, and another may be given in 
the following lines : — 

" I see before me the Gladiator lie : 
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony. 
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 



BYRON. 187 

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him— he is gone, 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. 

" He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 
He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 
There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday I — 
All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire 
And unaveng'd ? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire ! " 

These quotations may serve as some examples of the 
poetic power that gave Hfe to marbles, and breathed, over 
classic places in Greece and Italy, a spell like that cast 
by the enchanter Scott over some districts in his native 
land. Of Byron's eloquence the more fervid and ener- 
getic expressions are found mostly in the monologues of 
" Childe Harold," which, from an aesthetic point of view, 
may be justly censured as intensely subjective. One, 
given near the close of the " Pilgrimage," may be com- 
pared with the final and terrible invective, or curse, pro- 
nounced by Faliero in the drama bearing his name. The 
passage in "Childe Harold" ends with the following 
stanza : — 

" But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire. 
And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; 
But there is that within me which shall tire 



i88 ENGLISH POETS. 

Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, 
Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move 
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love." 

The Poet's versification displays a marvellous energy, 
but it is often careless and sometimes harsh — especially 
in his dramas. He could, however, when he would take 
pains, write fine lyrical strains ; now falling in gentle 
cadences, now rising to a climax of energetic expression, 
as in these stanzas taken from one of the " Hebrew 
Melodies : " — 

" The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

" Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen : 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown. 
That host on the morrow lay wither' d and strown. 

" For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still ! 

" And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide. 
But through it there rolFd not the breath of his pride : 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

" And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail ; 



BYRON. 189 

And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

"And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! " 

In his poetry, as in his Hfe, Byron was mostly driven 
along by impulses. He did not possess his own genius, 
but was possessed by it. His facility in producing verse 
was like that enjoyed by an Improvisatore. Hardly any 
of his works cost him hard study, save his first satire and 
the third act of Manfred. Many of his poems were pro- 
duced by excitements derived from visits to certain 
localities. The notion that some places are favourably 
haunted, and breathe poetic inspiration, is here and there 
expressed by the Poet. His lines have something of 
Petrarch's own sweetness when they describe the village 
where the great Italian lived : — 

" the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 

Is one of that complexion which seems made 
For those who their mortality have felt. 
And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd 
In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade. 
Which shows a distant prospect far away 
Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, 
For they can lure no further ; and the ray 
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday." 

If all the cynicism, the scepticism and the despair were 
left out, and nothing save the poetry of Byron remained, 



I90 ENGLISH POETS. 

his writings would still be original and attractive. Me- 
moirs of the Poet's life and reviews of his works are in- 
numerable. Among the former are found several that 
contradict one another, in instances too many to be 
noticed particularly. One writer describes Byron's lame- 
ness in terms making it clear that he could not for a 
moment stand firmly. But it is again and again asserted 
by other witnesses, that he was fairly proficient in box- 
ing. That exercise requires firm foothold as the sine 
qua noil. This is a comparatively harmless little speci- 
men of contradiction. 

Of all the " curiosities of literature " that may be dis- 
covered in reviews of Byron, the climax is the asser- 
tion that, after all, his first reviewer was right — Byron 
was not an original poet. This is merely laughable ; but 
we may take the trouble of setting against it the judg- 
ment of a man who certainly had some knowledge of 
poetry. GOETHE described Byron's genius as original in 
the superlative degree. 




SHELLEY. 




ERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, son of Sir 
Timothy Shelley, was born at Field Place 
(in Sussex) on the 4th of August, 1792 — the 
year when revolution was victorious in France. 
" There is not one of Shelley's works," says a French 
critic, " that does not bear the stamp of 1792." This as- 
sertion, though obviously wanting limitation, is mainly 
true, especially with reference to the Poet's more ex- 
tended works. He began to write verses not long after 
the time when hope, excited by the revolution, "had 
failed," as he said, 

" Like a brief dream of unremaining glory." 

Before he attained majority Shelley read extensively, 
and studied hard social and political problems, of which 
he found a general solution in his belief that all miseries 
of society must be ascribed to two causes — superstition 



193 ENGLISH POETS. 

and despotism. These evils, he believed, must be first 
destroyed ; then dreams of Paradise would be realized, 
and universal benevolence would make the world happy. 
Holding this belief, Shelley, when he was about eighteen 
years old, denounced as a superstition the creed of his 
native land. For this declaration of his opinions, he was 
expelled from the University of Oxford. The notion 
that he was led onward in negation by a fellow-collegian 
of inferior ability, is refuted by references to Shelley's 
early attempts in authorship. His " Wandering Jew " 
(a poem) was sent to the publishers Ballantyne in iSio, 
and was declined, with an intimation that some parts of 
it might be called sceptical. Suspicion of the same kind 
was excited by " St. Irvyne," a romance, containing some 
inferior pieces of verse and unconscious imitations of 
lines found in Byron's " Hours of Idleness." A rhapsody 
in verse — " Queen Mab" — was printed for the author in 
1 813, and was reprinted and published, without his con- 
sent, in 1 82 1. This work by no means deserves the 
honour of being placed first — as we find it in several edi- 
tions of the Poet's writings — but its conclusion gives, in 
a few lines, the central idea of his later and better poetry. 
Let superstition and tyranny be abolished, and let bene- 
volence be made a universal law ; then disease, ignor- 
ance, crime, warfare, and sorrow, will for ever disappear. 
The originality of Shelley's genius was more clearly 
shown in 18 15, when his poem, " Alastor," was written. 
The "Wanderer" introduced in this poem is an imagina- 



SHRLLE Y. 193 

tiv'c youth, seduced by visions of ideal beauty, led far 
away from society, and left to die in desolation. Love 
of solitude, attended with a longing for sympathy and a 
thirst for discovery, are traits ascribed to the Wanderer 
in " Alastor," and are found in the writer's own cha- 
racter. A more remarkable trait is the often-recurring 
thought of strife, duality, or contradiction, which is repre- 
sented in one poem by the battle of the "Serpent " and 
the "Eagle;" in another by the contest of "Prome- 
theus " and " Jove." That thought of antipathy seems 
to have been closely associated with memories of some 
painful passages in Shelley's early life — his experience 
at Eton, his expulsion from college, and some later sor- 
rows. When nineteen years old he was attracted by the 
beauty of Harriet Westbrook, whose age was sixteen. 
Soon after their marriage the young pair visited the 
English lake district, and they lived for some time in 
Wales. A virtual dissolution of their marriage had taken 
place in 18 14 (when they had two children), and separa- 
tion was followed by a deplorable event, of which we 
have no full and clear account. The young wife drowned 
herself. Afterwards, it was decreed in Chancery that 
Shelley should not have the guardianship of his own 
children. His sentiments, expressed in " Queen Mab," 
were made the basis of that decree, by which his mind 
was deeply affected. At the close of the year 18 16 he 
married Mary Godwin (daughter of the well-known 
writer), and went to live at Marlow, where his days were 
c C 



194 ENGLISH POETS. 

quietly devoted to study and to benevolent care for the 
welfare of his poor neighbours. He wrote, while he was 
living at Marlow, a narrative poem, " The Revolt of 
Islam," in which he spoke everywhere of love or benevo- 
lence " as the sole law which should govern the moral 
w^orld." 

In the spring of i8i8 Shelley, accompanied by his 
wife, went to Italy, and stayed some time in Venice, 
where he met once more Lord Byron, with whom he had 
previously travelled in Switzerland. At Rome, where 
the climate seemed to make his imagination more vigor- 
ous, he wrote his lyrical-dramatic poem, " Prometheus 
Unbound." This enthusiastic production was soon fol- 
lowed by " The Cenci," a tragedy founded on a dreadful 
series of crimes. In writing this drama " the author," 
says a critic, " coerced and restrained the characteristic 
qualities of his own genius." Shelley's intercourse with 
Byron was renewed at Pisa, where they lived near each 
other in 1821. There was no literary man — except, per- 
haps. Sir Walter Scott — whose character Byron respected 
more than Shelley's ; but the two Poets differed widely 
on some questions of taste and criticism. Byron called 
Shelley's notions of poetry and of philosophy "too spiri- 
tual and romantic," and was slow in recognizing the 
merits of Keats, a young poet whose writings gave de- 
light to Shelley. His anger was like that provoked by a 
personal insult when " Endymion," a poem written by 
Keats, was contemptuously treated by a reviewer. Be- 



SHELLEY. 195 

fore the review appeared, the health of Keats was rapidly 
declining, and soon afterwards his death awakened in 
Shelley's mind the sympathy and indignation so finely 
expressed in the splendid elegy, " Adonais." 

Shelley's general mode of life at Pisa was quiet and 
studious. Those who had no respect for some of his 
opinions were compelled to admire his temperate habits, 
gentle manners, and generous disposition. In the sum- 
mer of 1822 he went to live at a villa near the sea-coast, 
where he might enjoy his favourite amusement, boating 
and sailing ; for he was a lover of the sea. He returned 
to Pisa, and passed a few days there and in the neigh- 
bourhood in July, and then set sail at Livorno, intending 
to take a direct course homeward. His companions in 
the boat were his friend Williams and one sailor. The 
sea was quiet when their sail vanished on the horizon- 
line, but a violent storm soon followed, the boat went 
down, and the three voyagers were drowned. A few 
days later Shelley's body was cast by the sea on the 
shore, and was readily identified ; for he had carried 
in one of his pockets a volume of poetry containing 
"Lamia" and "Isabella." His remains — reduced to 
ashes by fire — were taken to Rome, and were there 
interred in the cemetery which he had described as 
" romantic and lonely." 

The character of Shelley is expressed in his poetr}% 
taken as a whole confession and generously interpreted. 
Some traits may be seen more clearly if we cast on them 



196 ENGLISH POETS. 

the light of contrast. For a moment the Poet, whose 
sympathies were so wide, may be placed in contrast be- 
side one of the small versifiers, sometimes called "poets," 
in Addison's time. The versifier takes some pains to 
make his lines rhyme, but cares little for politics or for 
any other practical affairs. Opposite to him lives a 
politician who talks of " balancing the powers of Europe." 
He has heard that Mr. Addison's play, " Cato," is called 
" patriotic," and there ends the politician's knowledge of 
poetical literature. His neighbour — a practical man — 
never thinks of poetry and cares little for politics. But 
he admires Sir Richard Steele's new scheme, called " The 
Fishpool : " a plan for supplying London with cheap and 
fresh salmon. These three men represent some classes 
of specialists, and all three stand apart from that class of 
men to which Shelley belonged. His views, like his 
sympathies, were comprehensive. He was at once a 
poet, a politician, and a social reformer. " I have," he 
said, " a passion for reforming the world." This was the 
motive that led him to study some abstruse subjects, and 
to accept social and other theories that, in the eighteenth 
century, were called luminous. 

Shelley, at one time, intended to give to the world his 
own theory of society in the shape of a systematic trea- 
tise, but it was never written. We find, however, its 
leading ideas in his poetical works. Of these ideas or 
general notions, several are remarkably like those set 
forth in old books called mystical. Shelley's poetry 



SHELLEY. 197 

speaks of a primeval and happy state of union, of a pro- 
cess of deterioration, and of a final restoration of union. 
An old mystic writer, treating of the same themes, some- 
times uses forms of expression like those which the Poet 
employs. Shelley speaks of mental, moral, and physical 
life as three expressions of one power, and the old mystic 
here again agrees well with the Poet. Once more they 
arc in concord when they describe our thoughts, our feel- 
ings, and our whole life as closely united with the uni- 
versal life of nature. When man was good, the world 
was a glorious home (says the mystic) ; the dwelling- 
place in every part reflected the thoughts and feelings of 
the inhabitant, and his own soul was the inspiring genius 
of every beautiful surrounding landscape. When he be- 
came degenerate, nature everywhere suffered a disastrous 
change. The desolation of his own soul was represented 
" in stony and sandy deserts ;" his bad passions — " pride, 
greed, envy, hate" — were akin to the fierce extremes of 
heat and cold, the fury of tempests, and the destructive 
forces of earthquake and lightning, by which the primeval 
and peaceful life of nature was disturbed. But when 
man shall once more become good, there will be de- 
veloped a new world, of which all the elements shall be 
harmoniously blended. Cleanse man's heart (says the 
old mystic), and from that fountain shall flow forth in- 
fluence that shall pervade and transmute, not human 
society alone, but the whole life of nature — 
'' The human Soul of universal earth." 



198 ENGLISH POETS. 

In " Prometheus Unbound " we shall see how Shelley- 
can clothe these ideas and make poetry of them. But 
the difference of the two theories, that so far have looked 
like one theory, must not be left unnoticed. Both the 
mystic and the Poet have spoken boldly of a future reno- 
vation of "man and his dwelling-place." The question 
naturally follows — by what agency can such a change be 
made .'' In their answers to that question they differ 
widely, and all their concord here comes to a conclusion. 
The old writer finds help in a faith which was in early 
life rejected by the Poet. The books that then served 
mostly as his guides and teachers led him to identify 
with that faith all the errors and the vices that had ever 
been associated with its name or its profession. Bigotry 
and persecution (he said) have ever been connected with 
that creed ; therefore it must be " hostile, instead of 
friendly, to the cultivation of those virtues which would 
make men brothers." Such reasoning is obviously illogi- 
cal, and it does not accord with the writer's own treat- 
ment of a similar case. For he does not abandon his 
belief in such principles as " equality " and " fraternity " 
on account of any crimes or excesses associated with the 
words. On the contrary, he speaks of these matters 
with clear discrimination when he tells us that, in his 
advocacy of social reformation, he refuses to flatter 
" those violent and malignant passions of our nature 
which are ever on the watch to mingle with and to alloy 
the most beneficial innovations." Of the wisdom implied 



SHELLEY. 199 

in these words there can be no dispute. They may 
serve to conclude our remarks on Shelley's theories, 
which arc too closely united with his poetry to be left 
without notice, even in this brief review of his writings. 
In passing to give some account of his poetical works, it 
may be well to advert to numerous errors in several 
editions of his poems. In some instances, the misprints 
and other errors are almost as bad as those found in 
some editions of Coleridge's poetry. 

Shelley's burlesque, satirical, and political writings in 
verse may here be left unnoticed. His more ideal poems 
reveal his own true character. The vague, dreamy en- 
thusiasm, and the visionary hopes of his youth are ex- 
pressed in the conclusion of his first considerable poem, 
but are represented with greater power and self-control 
in " Prometheus Unbound." He wrote one long narra- 
tive poem, " The Revolt of Islam," of which the form — 
but little more than the form — is epic. He wrote also 
one tragedy, Avhich, with regard to construction and 
pathos, is as remarkable as the author's choice of a sub- 
ject. The play is written in clear, undecorated English, 
and contains hardly more than one isolated description. 
As a specimen of power and artistic self-control, " The 
Cenci " is certainly the author's best work ; yet we have 
pleasure in turning away from it, to study his lyrical 
poetry. Beauties of sentiment and imagination abound 
in the elegy " Adonais," of which excessive splendour is 
the chief defect. Here and there are heard, as in the 



200 ENGLISH POETS. 

following stanzas, imaginative expressions of a mystic 
belief ratlier vaguely called " pantheism :" — 

" He lives, he wakes — 'tis Death is dead, not he; 
Mourn not for Adonais. — Thou, young Dawn, 
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee 
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone ; 
Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan ! 
Cease ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air, 
"Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown 
O'er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare 
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair. 

" He is made one with Nature : there is heard 
His voice in all her music, from the moan 
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; 
He is a presence to be felt and known 
In darkness and in hght, from herb and stone, 
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move 
Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; 
Which wields the world with never-wearied love. 
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above." 

The thought of duality and antipathy — of the long 
strife of good and evil in the world — is found almost 
everywhere, says a critic, when describing the general 
character of Shelley's writings. But the Poet could 
sometimes forget all social problems, and (as his wife 
said) "could for awhile shelter himself from the influence 
of human sympathies," while his imagination enjoyed 
free play in intercourse with nature. There can hardly 
be found more than one expression of a melancholy kind 



SHELLEY. 20I 

in the ode " To a Skylark," in which fine melody is sus- 
tained throughout twenty-one stanzas like the follow- 
ing : — 

" Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

" Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 

From my lips would flow, 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now." 

Continuous and perfect melody, like that of Coleridge's 
finest poems, is hardly found in Shelley's ; but here and 
there are strains recalling such music as is heard in 
" Christabel." For one example we may notice " Lines 
to an Indian Air," and for another, these lines in the 
" Hymn of Pan :" — 

" Liquid Peneus was flowing, 
And all dark Temp^ lay 
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing 
The light of the dying day, 

Speeded by my sweet pipings. 
The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, 

And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, 
To the edge of the moist river-lawns. 

And the brink of the dewy caves, 
And all that did then attend and follow 
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, 
With envy of my sweet pipings." 

The most characteristic of all the Poet's writings is the 
D D 



202 ENGLISH POETS. 

lyric-dramatic poem, " Prometheus Unbound," a splendid 
mythological form of expression, for the theory of which 
outlines have already been given. As an able critic has 
observed, Shelley in this poem gives to abstract thoughts 
vivid, imaginative forms, and " makes individuals out of 
generalities." Primeval life is here called the Reign of 
" Saturn," under whose sway the lives of all " earth's 
primal spirits " are calm and happy. Their deterioration 
takes place under the despotism of " Jupiter," of whom 
the Poet speaks exactly as the old mystic speaks of 
" Lucifer :"— 

" And Jove now reign'd ; for on the race of man 
First famine, and then toil, and then disease, 
Strife, wounds, and ghastly death, unseen before, 
Fell ; and the unseasonable seasons drove, 
"With alternating shafts of frost and fire. 
Their shelterless pale tribes to mountain caves ; 
And in their desert hearts fierce wants he sent 
And mad disquietudes, and shadows idle 
Of unreal good." 

The restoration of mankind and all other creatures to 
their primeval life is ascribed to the Titan named Pro- 
metheus, a representative of "wisdom, courage, and 
long-suffering love." Under the cruel reign of Jupiter 
the benevolent and powerful Titan alleviates the suffer- 
ings of mankind. For this offence he is chained on 
Caucasus, and there, with undaunted fortitude, he sus- 
tains a long series of tortures, of which one part is the 
knowledge he has of all miseries endured by men. Of a 



SHELLEY. 203 

terrible curse extorted from him by his sufferings, and 
hurled against his oppressor, Prometheus at length re- 
pents, as he tells us in these lines : — 

" It doth repent me : words are quick and vain ; 
Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine. 
I wish no living thing to suffer pain." 

Nevertheless, the malediction is fulfilled at the pre- 
destined time, when Jupiter is cast down from his throne 
by the power here named " Demogorgon " : — 

Demogorgon moves towards the throne <7/"Ju PITER. 
" Jupiter. Mercy ! mercy ! 

No pity, no release, no respite ! Oh, 
That thou wouldst make mine enemy my judge, 
Even where he hangs, seared by my long revenge, 
On Caucasus ! he would not doom me thus. 
Gentle and just, and dreadless, is he not 
The monarch of the world ? What art thou ? 
No refuge ! no appeal ! 

Sink with me then, 
We two will sink on the wide waves of ruin, 
Even as a vulture and a snake outspent 
Drop, twisted in inextricable fight. 
Into a shoreless sea. Let hell unlock 
Its mounded oceans of tempestuous fire. 
And whelm on them into the bottomless void 
This desolated world, and thee, and me, 
The conqueror and the conquered and the wreck 
Of that for which they combated. 

Ai! Ai! 
The elements obey me not. I sink 
Dizzily down, ever, for ever down. 
And, like a cloud, mine enemy above 
Darkens my fall with victory. Ai ! Ai ! " 



204 EXGLISH POETS. 

So falls Jupiter. Prometheus is immediately released 
from his chains by Hercules, who thus addresses the 
benevolent Titan : — 

" Most glorious among spirits ! thus doth strength 
To ^Wsdom, courage, and long-suffering love, 
And thee, who art the form they animate, 
Minister like a slave." 

Universal gladness follows the dethronement of Ju- 
piter and the liberation of Prometheus. To use an 
oriental form of expression. Ocean, the Earth, and the 
Moon "break forth into singing." Thus "the Earth" 
expresses her own joy when first she hears the tidings 
that her mighty son is once more free : — 

" 7/ie Earth. 1 hear, I feel ; 

Thy lips are on me, and thy touch runs down 
Even to the adamantine central gloom 
Along these marble nen-es ; 'tis life, 'tis joy, 
And through my wither'd, old, and icy frame 
The warmth of an immortal youth shoots down 
Circling. Henceforth the many children fair 
Folded in my sustaining arms ; all plants, 
And creeping forms, and insects rainbow-winged, 
And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human shapes, 
Which drew disease and pain from my wan bosom, 
Draining the poison of despair, shall take 
And interchange sweet nutriment ; to me 
Shall they become like sister-antelopes 
By one fair dam, snow-white and swift as wind. 
Nursed among lilies near a brimming stream."' 

The closing passages of the drama are introduced by 
the Poet's boldest lyrical strains. For him, in such a 



SHELLEY. 205 

mood of inspiration, no part of the universe is inanimate. 
That love shall henceforth be life's universal law is the 
burden of an antiphonal song, in which " the Earth " and 
" the Moon," singing alternately, thus express their rap- 
turous delight : — 

" The Earth. 

"The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness ! 

The boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness, 

The vaporous exultation not to be confined I 
Ha! ha! the animation of delight 
Which wraps me, like an atmosphere of light, 

And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind. 

" The Moox. 

" Brother mine, calm wanderer, 

Happy globe of land and air, 
Some Spirit is darted like a beam from thee, 

Which penetrates my frozen frame, 

And passes with the warmth of flame, 
With love, and odour, and deep melody 

Through me, through me ! 

" The Earth. 
" Ha! ha! the caverns of my hollow mountains. 
My cloven fire-crags, sound-exulting fountains 
Laugh with a vast and inextinguishable laughter. 
The oceans, and the deserts, and the abysses, 
And the deep air's unmeasured wildernesses, 
Answer from all their clouds and billows, echoing after. 

"The Moon. 
" The snow upon my lifeless mountains 
Is loosened into living fountains, 



2o6 ENGLISH POETS. 

My solid oceans flow, and sing, and shine : 

A spirit from my heart bursts forth, 

It clothes with unexpected birth 
My cold bare bosom : Oh ! it must be thine 
On mine, on mine I 

" Gazing on thee, I feel, I know 

Green sulks burst forth, and bright flowers grow. 

And li\'ing shapes upon my bosom move : 

Music is in the sea and air, 

Winged clouds soar here and there. 
Dark with the rain new buds are dreaming of : 
'Tis love, aU love 1 " 

To conclude the poem, and to give in a direct form 
the meaning of all its mythology^ the following words 
are spoken by the power named " Demogorgon :" — 

•' To suft'er woes which Hope thinks infinite ; 
To forgive wTongs darker than death or night ; 

To defy Power, which seems omnipotent ; 
To love, and bear ; to hope till Hope creates 
From its own WTeck the thing it contemplates ; 

Neither to change, nor flatter, nor repent; 
This, like thy glor)-, Titan, is to be 
Good, great and joyous, beautifid and free ; 
This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and ^'ictor>•." 




LONGFELLOW 




E want a national epic that shall correspond 
to the size of the country ; that shall be to 
all other epics what Banvard's Panorama of 
the Mississippi is to all other paintings — the 
largest in the world." These words Mr. LONGFELLOW 
(in one of his stories) ascribes to a critic whose notions 
of poetry are original and shallow. Poetry, as we have 
seen, implies a union of elements of which scenerj' is 
only one, while others are derived from social and 
national life, general culture, and religion. Such a union 
of many elements as was required for the development 
of Shakespeare and Milton can by no means occur in 
every time or in every place. Some literarj- historians 
have erroneously written in an apologetic strain of 
poor imitative verses called "American poetry" in the 
eighteenth century. The true apology is found in the 
social, political and religious history of America in the 



2oS EXGL/S// POETS. 

colonial time. Near the close of the year 1620, the 
" pilgrim fathers " arrived at Plymouth. More than a 
centur}- and a half passed away, and then the political 
bond between Old England and her colonies in North 
America was severed. But the people of the United 
States were still English. They still spoke "the tongue 
that Shakespeare spoke," and still held the faith and the 
morals that Milton held. It was decreed by the Spirit 
who controls the whole current of historical events, that 
the men of tlie United States might change, as they 
pleased, that comparatively unimportant thing, the form 
of their government ; but meanwhile they must retain 
their grand inheritance — our unrivalled language, our 
English literature, our poetry. Why should a people to 
whom Shakespeare belongs be proud of any artificial 
originality ; or wish to begin, in poetry, ad oz'o and tfc 
7ioi'o? Do we speak too boldly.'' Then Mr. Long- 
fellow shall speak for us. in support of our theor}', 
that, in its higher developments — especially in poetry 
— American literature must be English. The following 
quotation is part of a conversation introduced by Mr. 
Longfellow in his story entitled " Kavanagh " : — 

" You admit nationality to be a good thing ? 

" Yes, if not carried too far ; still, I confess, it rather limits one's 
views of truth. I prefer what is natural. Mere nationality is often 
ridiculous. Ever}' one smiles when he hears the Icelandic proverb: 
' Iceland is the best land the sun shines upon.' Let us be natural, 
and we shall be national enough. Besides, our literature can be 
strictly national only so far as our character and modes of thought 



LONGFELLOW. 209 

differ from those of other nations. Now, as we are very like the 
English — arc, in fact, English under a different sky — I do not see 
how our literature can be very different from theirs. Westward, 
from hand to hand, we pass the lighted torch, but it was lighted 
at the old domestic fireside of England." 

Though Mr. Longfellow's views of nationality and 
originality are thus moderated by his general cul- 
ture, he is the most popular of the writers who may 
be called " English-American." He is an English poet 
when we consider his purity and melody in writing our 
language, while he remains a true American with respect 
to choice of themes and scenery in several of his best 
productions : — " Evangeline ;" the " Courtship of Miles 
Standish ;" and the " Song of Hiawatha." 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born at the 
city of Portland (in Maine) on the 27th of Februar>^, in 
1807. -^t the age of eighteen he graduated with high 
honours at Bowdoin College, and about the same time 
published several occasional poems. After a short in- 
terval devoted to the study of law, he accepted the 
newly founded professorship of modern languages in 
Bowdoin College, and to prepare himself for its duties, 
left America, and passed three years and a half in 
travelling and residing in France, Italy, Spain, Germany, 
Holland, and England. 

His residence in Germany, and the study of the 
poetical literature of that country, had a lasting in- 
fluence on his taste and imagination ; and it has been 
E E 



2IO ENGLISH POETS. 

asserted by some, that his love of the romantic and 
mystical old legends of central Europe led him away 
too far from the range of topics proper for an American 
poet. He has, however, defended his own choice of 
subjects, and has protested against ever>^ narrow notion 
of a national literature. "All that is best," he says, " in 
the great poets of all countries, is not what is national 
in them, but what is universal. Their roots are in their 
native soil, but their branches wave in the unpatriotic 
air, that speaks the same language unto all men, and 
their leaves shine with the illimitable light that per\'ades 
all lands." 

In 1835, when !Mr. George Ticknor (the literary his- 
torian of Spain) resigned the chair of modern languages 
in Harvard College, Mr. Longfellow was elected to 
take the vacant place. To qualify himself more fully 
for the duties of that position, he again visited Europe, 
and there continued his studies of Teutonic languages 
and their literatures. Of these studies some results 
appeared (in 1845) in a work entitled "the Poets and 
Poetry of Europe," of which an extended and revised 
edition was published in 1871. After the resignation of 
his professorship (in 1854) Mr. Longfellow lived in re- 
tirement at Cambridge, there devoting his leisure to 
studies of which the fruits are found in numerous 
original poems, and in translations of poetry. To the 
former belong the " Song of Hiawatha," published in 
1855 ; the "Courtship of Miles Standish" (1858), and 



LONGFELLOW. 211 

"Talcs of a Wayside Inn" (1863). The translation of 
Dante (published in 1867-70) was one of Mr. Long- 
fellow's most laborious tasks. In 1868-9 he once more 
visited England, and was here received with the honour 
due to a poet, a scholar, and a man who eminently re- 
presents the literary union of America and England. 

With respect to their form, Mr. Longfellow's metrical 
writings belong to the three classes, lyrical, narrative, 
and dramatic ; but the true character of his genius is 
lyrical and reflective. He seldom excites, or endeavours 
to excite, the more violent passions. He would rather 
quell than call into action the feelings that, in the heart 
of man, are akin to stormy transitions in nature — 

'• The wind, the tempest roaring high, 
The tumult of a tropic sky." 

Gracefulness and facility are the author's most pro- 
minent artistic qualities, and purity of sentiment is a 
characteristic of all that he has written. The earnest 
tones of his didactic verse have made his "Psalm of 
Life " and his " Ladder of St. Augustine," household 
words in England as in America ; but we like better his 
" Village Blacksmith," for there the lesson is given in 
a life-like example. It is one of the Poet's merits that 
he can find in pure, classic English abundant means 
of expression for all his thoughts, emotions, and im- 
aginations. The tone that pervades several of his most 
pleasing productions may be called elegiac, yet it is by 



213 ENGLISH POETS. 

no means gloomy. This pensive tone pervades the whole 
of the idyll entitled " Evangeline." 

A controversy too extensive to be fairly noticed here 
is suggested by the form called "English hexameter 
verse," which the Poet has employed in " Evangeline," 
a story founded on an event in the history of Nova 
Scotia, formerly called "Acadia." In 1755 the people 
of Acadia, accused of giving aid to the French, were 
expatriated, and, in the haste attending their dispersion, 
families and friends were separated. At that time Evan- 
geline, the heroine of the poem, was living wath her 
father, an Acadian farmer, at the village of Grand-Pre, 
and was betrothed to Gabriel, the son of a neighbour. 
Their marriage was prevented by the burning of the 
village and the expatriation of the people. Overcome 
by the calamity, the father of Evangeline died on the 
sea-shore, while Gabriel and his father were carried away 
into exile. Thus the lovers were separated, and the 
remainder of the poem describes the long wanderings of 
the maiden in search of her betrothed. The places 
visited by Evangeline, and the incidents of her journeys, 
are described in the second part of the poem. Led 
onward by various rumours, the maiden follows every 
direction, however vague and shadowy, that seems to 
point towards Gabriel. 

" Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within 

her, 
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, 



LONGFELLOW. 213 

She would commence again her endless search and endeavour ; 
Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and 

tombstones, 
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom 
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. 
Sometimes a rumour, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper. 
Came with its airy hand, to point and beckon her forward. 
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and 

known him ; 
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten." 

Year after year passes away in the search. At last, 
in the city of Philadelphia, the long pilgrimage finds a 
close. Here Evangeline, now advanced in years, be- 
comes a member of the order " Sisters of Mercy," and 
while a pestilence is spreading, devotes herself to 
attendance on afflicted poor people. It is a Sabbath 
morning, when she is called upon to visit a dying man, 
who has been brought into the alms-house. She enters 
the chamber, and comes near the bed where the patient 
lies. 

" Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder. 
Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder 
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from 

her fingers. 
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish. 
That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray, were the locks that shaded his temples ; 
But,.as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment 
Seemed to assume once more the form of its earlier manhood 
(So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying). 



214 EXGLISH POETS. 

Motionless, senseless, dying he lay, and his spirit, exhausted, 
Seemed to be sinking down through intinite depths in the dark- 
ness — 
Darkness of slumber and death — for ever sinking and sinking. 
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, 
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like : 
' Gabriel ! O my beloved ! ' — and died away into silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; 
Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, 
Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and walking under their 

shadow. 
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his ^^sion. 
Tears came into his eyes ; and, as slowly he lifted his eyelids. 
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline kneeled by his bedside. 
\'ainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents, unuttered. 
Died on his Ups, and their motion revealed what the tongue would 

have spoken. 
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, 
Kissed his d}-ing lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of %vind at a casement."' 

In the " Courtship of Miles Standish," the Poet tells 
a story of the times when the Pilgrims fought for their 
lives with Red Men — sometimes with bears — and were 
too busy in their " wilderness work " (so they called it) 
to care for any poetn,- except their Psalm Book. 

In the " Song of Hiawatha " (which has been called 
an " Indian Edda "") the Poet reproduces, with some 
imaginative decorations, myths and legends, including 
the best unwritten poetry of the North American 
Indians. " Hiawatha "' is one of the names ascribed by 



LONGFELLOW. 215 

tradition to a miraculous person, the guardian and 
teacher, who came from heaven to teach the Red Men 
of old times the arts of peace. With this principal 
legend the Poet has interwoven other stories, all founded 
more or less on a mythology of which the outlines are 
faithfully preserved. The story of " Shingebiss the 
Diver " is a fair example of several tales given with re- 
markable fidelity, and serving as expressions of feelings 
and intuitions that supplied for the Red Man the want 
of a creed. He had no abstract notions. For him joy 
was " a bright sun," or " a clear blue sky," and adversity 
was " a thorny plant." He was not a materialist ; for 
he ascribed every visible effect to an invisible cause or 
source of power, which he called the " manito " or spirit. 
As he conceived, a " manito " gave the spark from the 
flint, made the blade of grass grow, flowed in the stream, 
and gave energy to the wind ; but in every instance 
the notion was concrete and particular. If a wild animal 
had power to resist the cold of winter, it was because 
the " manito " in the animal was more powerful than his 
antagonist. The Red Man believed in spells and dreams 
and in admonitions coming from an unseen world. He 
believed also in a life beyond the grave ; but it was not 
an ideal life, abstracted from all the sights and sounds 
of mother earth. The spirit of the Red INIan goes to 
the hunting-ground in the far-off south-west, where he 
finds abundance of game, with beans and maize, and 
there he feasts joyfully with his friends. The conclusion 



3i6 EyOL/SH POETS. 

of the poem, in which so many pleasing legends are 
preserved, tells of the coming of the white men, and 
the departure of Hiawatha is described in these me- 
lodious lines : — 

" On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at parting : 
On the clear and knninous water 
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water : 
\\'hispered to it, ' Westward ! Westward '. ' 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness, 
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie. 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splendour, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapours, 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking. 
Till the birch-canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendour, 
Till it sank into the vapours 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, ' Farewell for ever '. ' 
Said ' Farewell, O Hiawatha I ' 
And the forests, dark and lonely. 
Moved through all their depths of darkness, 
Sighed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha : " 



LONGFELLOW. 217 

And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha ! ' 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands, 
Screamed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha I ' " 

Mr. Longfellow has written several poems having a 
dramatic form: — the "Spanish Student" (1845), the 
"Golden Legend" (1851), and a passion-play called 
the "Divine Tragedy" (1871). These poems cannot be 
strictly called dramas. In a true drama every action, 
every speech must serve as part of one general move- 
ment and aid in leading to one conclusion. No isolated 
lyrical declamation — however poetical — must interrupt 
the movement. Sentimental passages that may be 
either inserted or omitted are out of place, A drama is 
not a string of pearls, but has a construction to which 
nothing can be added, and from which nothing can be 
taken away. It is by no means denied here that the 
" Spanish Student " and the " Golden Legend " contain 
true poetry. A man may be a great poet, and yet may 
fail when he attempts writing a drama. Byron's dra- 
matic works are, as we have said, mostly failures, and 
the same may be said of Wordsworth's poems written in 
a dramatic form. 

In Mr. Longfellow's occasional lyrical poems are 

found beautiful and sometimes distinctly American 

traits of scenery ; gentle and pure sentiments ; true 

moral lessons (too often directly given), and a religious 

F F 



2i8 ENGLISH POETS. 

tone, purer than that of " sacred poems" cliaracterized 
by an irreverent repetition of certain names and phrases. 
Of many pleasant l}'rical poems the following, addressed 
to " Children," is a fair example : — 

" Come to me, O ye children ! 

For I hear you are at your play, 
And the questions that perplex me 

Have vanished quite away. 

" Ye open the eastern windows, 

That look towards the sun, 
Where thoughts are singing swallows 

And the brooks of morning run. 

" In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, 

In your thoughts the brooklets flow, 
But in mine is the wind of Autumn, 

And the first fall of the snow. 

" Ah ! what would the world be to us 

If the children were no more ? 
We should dread the desert behind us 

Worse than the dark before. 

" What the leaves are to the forest. 

With light and air for food. 
Ere their sweet and tender juices 

Have been hardened into wood, — 

" That to the world are children ; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 

" Come to me, O ye children, 

And whisper in my ear 
W^hat the birds and the winds are singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 



LONGFELLOW. 219 

" For what are all our contrivings, 

And the wisdom of our books, 
When compared with your caresses, 

And the gladness of your looks ? 

" Ye are better than all the ballads 

That ever were sung or said ; 
For ye are living poems, 

And all the rest are dead." 

After all that has been said of Mr. Longfellow's 
gracefulness and facility in lyrical poetry, it must not be 
forgotten that he has written energetic epic poetry, of 
which a fine specimen is seen in " Paul Revere's Ride," 
or the Landlord's Tale, in "Tales of a Wayside Lin." 
The story, though told with artistic power and con- 
ciseness, is still too long for our limits. Instead of it 
may be given an old favourite — the "Village Black- 
smith." May wc hope to be forgiven for omitting the 
final stanza — the moral lesson } The poem is, we be- 
heve, complete as here given : — 

" Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

" His hair is crisp and black and long. 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'cr he can. 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 



E XG I. ISH P O E TS. 

" Week in, week out. from morn till nii^ht, 
Vou can hear his bellows blow ; 

\ou can hear him swing his heavy sledi^c. 
With measured beat, and slow. 

Like a sexton ringing the village-bell. 
When the evening sun is low. 

" And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the llaniing forgo. 

And hear the bellows roar. 
And catch the burning sparks thai tlv 

Like chatf from a thrashing-tluor. 

" He goes on Sunday to the church. 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach. 

He hears his daughter's voice 
.Singing in the village choir. 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

" It sounds to him like her mothers voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

" l^oiling— rejoicing — sorrowing, 

Onward through life he goes ; 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 
Something attempted, something done. 

Has earned a night's repose." 



n 



Wr 


fkA- ■ 


^■■p «^ 


J 


P| 


'j^^^^^^^l 




^.hJ 


^^H ^^ 


/^uH 




TENNYSON. 




all characteristics ascribed to our English 
Poetry of the present century, that of which 
there, can be the least dispute is variety — 
the result of independence and individual 
courage in choice of themes and modes of treatment, 
A revolution has taken place since the time of Words- 
worth's warfare with critics. Crabbe, Coleridge, Scott, 
Byron, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson — these names are 
enough to indicate a variety of thoughts and forms of 
expression, greater than can be found in all the poetry 
of the time when Boileau was reigning. The expansion 
of ideas and forms in modern poetry has of course made 
criticism more difficult. Errors, too well known to be 
named again, warn us of danger, when we would attempt 
to give any comparative estimate of poetical works pro- 
duced in our own time. Here we have no aid derived 



222 ENGLISH POETS. 

from earlier criticism, confirmed by time's verdict ; no 
aid like that afiforded by distance when we would 
study distinct traits in a landscape. A substitute for 
distance might be found in a clear theory, as far remote 
from prejudice as heaven from earth ; but who can 
boast of having more than a glimpse of such a theory 
of poetry ? 

In too many respects, the age in which we live is un- 
favourable to any culture that may be called ideal ; in- 
deed this word " ideal " is sometimes treated as useless, 
and in some recent works on " culture " hardly a word is 
said of poetry ! 

" The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers." 

But Poetry has not been utterly frightened and driven 
away by Mammon, genius of blackened rivers and skies 
beclouded with perpetual smoke. Sometimes, it is true, 
our modern poets have retreated from the present age 
and, in their antique or medieeval world, have found 
their legendary or ideal themes ; but here and there are 
still heard strains accordant with the sorrow and the 
hope of the present age. These strains are not mono- 
tonous, but may be called respectively conservative and 
liberal, though such words may for a moment seem here 
out of place. Our cotemporary poets cannot, without 
a sacrifice of art, write in a dry or harsh and contro- 



TENNYSON. 225 

vcrsial manner of political or any other doctrines. But 
there may be powerful though indirect teaching con- 
veyed in tones too vague to be readily defined. To give 
one example, may we not call the general tendency of 
Keble's quiet and half-mystic poems " conservative " in 
an ecclesiastical sense ? On the other side, do we not 
hear in many songs — by no means to be called imita- 
tive — Shelley's own voice, predicting once more the 
dawn of a new era ? 

The two tendencies, here called respectively conserva- 
tive and liberal, are not all that belong to our latest 
poetical literature. Veneration for the past and hopes 
of an expansive and harmonious future are conciliated in 
the meditative poetry written by the author of "In 
Memoriam." That series of lyrical and reflective poems 
cannot be fairly described either as one long elegy, or as 
a series of elegies. German reviewers have made an 
error in calling the whole work a " Todienklage," or 
lamentation for one departed. The lamentation is but 
one of several passages, though it certainly serves as the 
source of all that follow. From that source flow other 
expressions that, in their quiet course, gradually trans- 
mute an individual grief into sympathy with the general 
sorrow and the sustaining hope of mankind. The Poet 
does not evade but confronts doubt and negation attend- 
ing modern science. In the strains numbered 55 and 
56, and again in 124, he refers to the doubts that may 



2 24 ENGLISH POETS. 

follow a scientific exploration of nature ; but he docs not 
condemn modern science. There may be found some- 
thing more like condemnation in words used by Dr. 
Newman, when speaking of the intrusion of science into 
the realms belonging to faith and imagination. " Poetry," 
he says, " is always the antagonist to science. As 
science makes progress in any subject-matter, poetry 
recedes from it." It will be sad indeed when poetry is 
compelled, by dint of analysis, to recede from nature ; 
for at that time poetry must cease to exist. 

The author of " In Memoriam " has not predicted the 
coming of a time when science shall take the place of 
faith and imagination. In the closing passages of the 
poem he speaks of an immortal life ; of a communion of 
the seen with the unseen world ; of an expansive and 
harmonious future. These themes have for their accom- 
paniment fine music in the strains numbered ii8 and 
130. But these passages, belonging to a series, must 
not be given here as unconnected excerpts. Their lead- 
ing ideas may be given ; for these are found in the 
writings of men who have been called theorists and 
dreamers. Without such dreams as theirs our modern 
poetry might be melodious, sensuous, and brilliant, but 
it would have no deep and permanent influence. The 
intuitions expressed in meditative poetry of the highest 
order accord well with a theory of which the following 
quotation gives a summary : — 



TENNYSON. 225 

" Our will, as here expressed in our thoughts and actions, deter- 
mines the character of our future life. . . . Our actions every day 
take place in a vast theatre, of which the highest tiers — to us in- 
visible — arc crowded with spectators, who regard with keen interest 

every movement in our hves Death will let us know more 

clearly what we already partly know— the character of the society 
to which we spiritually belong. Here departed friends, and thou- 
sands whom we have never called friends, converse with us without 
the aid of words ; there we shall be introduced to no strangers, but 
shall more intimately know those with whom we now hold com- 
munion. The better we grow the stronger ; for more and more 
numerous will be the souls living in communion with our own. 
Those whom we call ' the departed ' are not absorbed, so as to be 
lost in One Universal Soul, but while all have a common centre, 
each has its own; so that all their lives are like so many stars — 
each receiving and shedding light ; all surrounded by one common 
radiance." 

Nearly all the leading traits displayed in Mr. Tenny- 
son's later works were indicated in his earlier poems, 
published as long ago as 1830. At that time they had 
to encounter some hostile criticism. One of the more 
truly appreciative reviews was written by a poet — Wilson 
— who, though he mingled with his praise some blame, 
could see the beauty and originality of such poems as 
" Mariana," " Oriana," " Recollections of the Arabian 
Nights," and, above all, " The Miller's Daughter." The 
scenery of these and other early poems was falsely gene- 
ralized by one reviewer, who spoke of the young Poet as 
of " a dweller amidst the fens of Lincolnshire." That 
shire has its own grandeur, as well as beauty, in spacious 



226 ENGLISH POETS. 

views of wolds and pastures, with here and there lofty 
spires of churches. The scenery of " Oriana " and " The 
Miller's Daughter" comprises, among other traits, a sea- 
shore and long high wolds, looking down over many 
village spires. 

After 1842, when two volumes appeared, containing, 
with some reprints, many excellent new poems, the 
author's reputation was more widely extended, and few 
were found to call in question his originality, "The 
Princess, a Medley," published in 1847, was followed by 
" In Memoriam," already noticed as the author's most 
thoughtful production, which appeared in 1850, when 
the author was appointed Poet Laureate. In 1855 stern 
thoughts excited by social and military affairs were 
boldly expressed in " Maud," a poem telling a love- 
story by means of a series of passionate lyrical strains, 
of which several combine well beauty and melody with 
a dramatic interest. " Enoch Arden," a pathetic idyll 
— especially admired by many German as by many 
English readers — was published with other poems in 
1864. Of its companions one — " The Northern Farmer" 
— is intensely humorous. To the interval 1858 — 72, 
belong the series of poems in blank verse, entitled " Idylls 
of the King," called by the writer " new-old " poems, of 
which the central idea is represented by King Arthur. 
That idea, divested of imaginative forms, and lights and 
shadows of an old, mythical, and picturesque world, is 



TENNYSON. 227 

equivalent to an assertion of the supremacy of conscience 
— conscience reverenced and obeyed, 

"As God's most intimate presence in the soul, 
And his most perfect image in the world." 

For a poetic representation of that idea, the old myth 
of " The Gral " seems more appropriate than some 
legends of " The Round Table." The Poet's wealth of 
imagination and his graphic power of expression are 
finely displayed in his " Idylls of the King." 

With respect to their forms, the Poet's works — except- 
ing the drama, " Queen Mary," — may be mostly divided 
into the two classes, lyrical and narrative. The former 
class includes a rich variety of tones, though love is the 
principal theme of the lyrical poems. " Locksley Hall " 
and "The Lotus Eaters" are splendid and well-contrasted 
examples of strains as melodious as they are well 
sustained. Many shorter lyrical poems, especially suit- 
able to be set to music, are given here and there in 
"The Princess" and in the " Idylls of the King." Of 
lyrical-narrative poems, " The Day-Dream," " CEnone," 
" The Talking Oak," " Lady Clara Vere de Vere," and 
" The Lord of Burleigh " are beautiful specimens. The 
narrative class includes (besides myths of "The Round 
Table") "Enoch Arden," "Dora," and "The Gardener's 
Daughter " — the last a very beautiful love-story. 

The Poet's political tones, which may be called con- 



CONTENTS. 




NTRODUCTION 
Shakespeare 
Milton 



Addison 



Pope . 
Goldsmith . 
Burns . 
Wordsworth 
Scott . 
Byron 
Shelley 
Longfellow 
Tennyson . 



PAGE 

I 

•7 
51 

75 
89 
107 
123 
135 
157 
173 
191 
207 



b 



